Patience Rewards Itself
by The Miffed Writer
Summary: Sebastian Moran's job was simple this time; 'fix' Vernon Dursley. He was prepped to do it. He had no problem doing it. That is, until he sees an unidentified boy with no record of existence at the residence thrown out of the home. Thus, Harry Potter gains a (admittedly unconventional) family, Jim gets a protégé and Seb just hopes that Harry won't wind up quite as...off as his Dad
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Harry Potter, or Sherlock, or any characters in the aforementioned media forms. I don't even own the storyline-this was originally prompted on the bbc Sherlock meme on LJ by aldernavy, and I had to try my hand at writing a Dumbledore bashing fic.**

Patience was something that Sebastian Moran was not born with, but something he'd learned in his time as a gun for hire. 9 times out of 10, the job only came with a name; maybe a location, if he was lucky. Few times in his life had Sebastian ever been given a routine that his targets followed, which meant an untold amount of time watching and waiting and planning. Patience was the only virtue that Sebastian possessed, and it was self taught.

After being hired as James Moriarty's personal bodyguard/sniper/nanny-patience was something that definitely came in handy-especially when dealing with Jim's more unstable moods and tendency to change his mind-however, even his patience has limits; watching a lower-upperclass suburban business waddle around his routine for over a week is enough to make even Sebastian lose his patience; give him a criminal mastermind with a penchant for deadly games and a changeable personality any day. What he cannot stand is following some fat slob by the name of Dursley around as he goes through what must be the most mundane existence since forever.

Sebastian isn't sure what the Walrus did to warrant a hit, through his boss nonetheless, but it isn't his business, and, frankly, he doesn't care. It was his own fault for admitting to Jim that he was beginning to get bored in London; Jim didn't like to know that others were bored, that he could suffer from the same problem as 'the little people', and this was his punishment. Sebastian knew that, at least, it was good time off to relax in a relatively safe environment, if nothing else. So, he did what he was paid to; he scouted out and did recon. He walked the neighborhood, altering his clothing a bit every time, adjusting his posture-he knew how to subtly appear different, so no one would alert the authorities to his presence. That particular day he had on a baseball cap, a T shirt and jeans.

He supposed, from an objective point of view, Little Whinging, and Privet Drive by extension, was a pleasant place to live, even if he wouldn't choose to live there. It was a simple, upper Middleclass, lower upperclass suburban neighborhood-all the houses were well to do, the lawns mown and taken care of with attention that is disturbing-what makes Sebastian's skin crawl (and what would make Jim take a couple dozen cans of gasoline and a few matches to it) is that Privet Drive has no originality whatsoever. All the nice houses, and yards, and garden all look the same-the cars themselves are one of two types; either belonging to a business or navy blue.

As far as his jobs go, this one started safe, but boring.

That changed on the second week of his stakeout. At exactly 8:15 in the morning, a young boy exited Number 4, a boy that Sebastian couldn't readily identify. Sebastian went over his information again-Vernon Dursley and his wife had a 7 year old son named Dudley, enrolled in the local public school. There was no record of a second child. But this kid clearly lived here, so where did he come from?

Like always, Vernon Dursley exited the house at 8:20. By then, the boy was kneeling in the flower beds-but the way that he shrunk from the large man as he passed spoke volumes. Narrowing his eyes, Sebastian watched the boy keep his eyes on the car as it backed out of the driveway, and drove down the street, only relaxing when it was out of sight. This made Sebastian pause.

The boy had a pale, pinched face; pale and pinched from hunger, if his stunted size was anything to go on. He had messy, untamed dark hair, and overlarge glasses sliding down his face. He might have been a pretty child, had he not been so under cared for, wearing hand me down clothes at least 4 sizes too big. He had a very awkward way of moving, less of a gait, more of a shuffle. Someone, and Sebastian only said it sarcastically, had been hitting him.

He watched as 30 minutes later Petunia exited with Dudley, the only listed child at the residence, their son. Petunia Dursley was a tall, horsey woman with little grace. She had a very waxy complexion, and thin blonde hair. Dudley looked like Vernon, save for his blonde hair, although the texture was his father's. He watched, morbidly interested, to see how the other members of the family treated the boy.

As they walked past, Dudley aimed a forceful kick right into the boy's ribs, sending him sprawling into the dirt and the rose bushes. Sebastian had had far worse, but he knew that it would be painful, particularly for an underfed child. He waited to see what Petunia would do to reprimand the little monster. He'd expected it, but was still surprised to see, that she simply smiled dotingly at the fat child, and turned to look at the unknown boy with an expression similar to what you'd turn on something unpleasant underfoot.

It was Thursday; that meant that Dursley will have caught rush hour traffic- he won't make it to work before 9:30. He'll disappear into his office until noon, when he'll go out for lunch-there's a pastry shop down the street that he favors. He would return at 1:30. He won't leave work until 5:30, and get back by 6:15. He knew Vernon's schedule like the back of his hand; he can afford to observe the kid for a day-it's additional recon, he told himself. Besides, this kid was interesting (and not Jim's kind of interesting; where either the subject was dangerous, or his reaction to it was violent).

Seb waited until Petunia and Dudley had driven off before he crossed the street. The boy worked very hard-he took his time, and obviously knew what he was doing-impressive for a child. Seb stopped on the sidewalk, 4 ½ feet from the boy, and waited for him to notice his presence.

It took less time than Seb would have suspected, no more than 15 seconds. The boy didn't make much of a move toward him, but he didn't shuffle away either, merely turning emerald eyes on him suspiciously. He regarded him warily, but with more trust than his own guardians; that spoke volumes. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, my name is Paul Strauss, I'm considering moving into number 17, just down the road. I couldn't help but notice your flower beds, Mr…?" Sebastian smiled-careful that it wasn't too bright, or to small-perfectly forgettable.

"I'm Harry Potter, sir. And they aren't mine, they're my Aunt Petunia's." Harry responded; he'd often wondered what made them hers. Aunt Petunia never worked in the garden, only picked out it's contents, leaving Harry to do all the work. Despite this, she always got the credit-everyone paid homage to his aunt, leaving Harry forgotten in the cupboard.

"Your aunt isn't up and working on them at 9 in the morning, now is she? Which reminds me, why aren't you at school?"

"I…er…" No one had ever noticed the days that Petunia and Vernon kept him home from school to do his chores (or, likely they chalked it up to delinquent behavior, never mind that he did all the yard work while 'skipping'). "I'm home schooled." Sebastian nodded.

"Your roses are lovely, does your mother help you?"

Harry shook his head. "My parents are dead. I live here with my aunt and uncle," he explained. Sebastian noticed the fact that he didn't answer the question, but left it there.

"I see. Well, I should be getting on, then. You have a good day, Mr. Potter, I'm sure that we'll meet again soon." Sebastian tipped his cap, and walked away, not failing to notice the stunned look that he got from the boy.

* * *

Sebastian Moran couldn't get little Harry Potter's face out of his mind's eye. He spent that day, and the next, watching the boy, and how his relatives treated him. He did not like what he saw; how his 'family' lived up to and surpassed his expectations. He may not have been a genius, but Sebastian was clever; he knew what he saw, knew how to connect the dots.

He watched, furious, as Petunia Dursley returned home at noon and verbally tore him apart on the front lawn, finishing this by grabbing Harry by the back of his hair and dragging him into the house. He saw later as the boy exited the home with a bruised jaw. He saw as Harry worked in the sweltering heat of the day in heavy clothes meant for winter, until his sweat had practically soaked him. He saw many more things, being kicked by his uncle, screamed at again by his aunt, and, that night, thrown into the cupboard beneath the stairs (seen through the flimsy lace curtains from across the street). This sealed their fate; Sebastian did not have morals, but this was to disgusting for even his standards.

Sebastian had enquired around the neighborhood about the Potter child and had been surprised at the stupidity offered to him; the general consensus was that the Dursley's were "a fine, upstanding family. Very polite and well to do, their dinner parties are divine, Petunia's cooking is quite impressive (Sebastian had seen that Petunia didn't cook a damn thing all day- everything had been done solely by her nephew, and he was willing to bet that he was the one making the meals for their guests). Dudley's a strapping young boy-high spirited, that's all he is, he'll soon grow out of it," but on Harry, their attitudes had changed drastically, "little trouble maker he is. Often cuts classes, stays home all the time. Fights with his cousin, has horrible grades. Dursley's are doing him a kindness- took him in after his parents died in a drunk driving incident. Raising him the best they can. Petunia and Vernon warned us of course, compulsive liar; said not to believe a word from his mouth." They were blind to the abuse, obviously- these were the perfect example of people that Jim couldn't stand.

Harry Potter had no allies; he was being abused by his relatives-said relatives spread rumors of being a liar and of fighting, effectively blocking any way out by asking for help. He regularly stayed home, making teachers suspicious. He had no one on his side. No open doors.

Sebastian decided, then and there, that he would be the one to open a window.

* * *

Sebastian killed the Dursley's on Saturday night (around 3); they spent Sundays in, and no one would notice the absence for a day after that. This gave Sebastian til Tuesday at the latest; it took an hour without traffic to get to London. Roughly 47 hours to make arrangements for Harry Potter; either convince Jim to do something, to cover for him, or to call in a favor from one of his contacts.

Cold blood killing, close and personal, that is, is a technique that Sebastian doesn't prefer to use; it's too personal, there are too many ways for something to go wrong, and he doesn't have as tight a control on his emotions when he's just stabbed someone, or, in this case, slit the throats of 3 people in their sleep. Especially these people.

There were no stars in the sky that night, and had Sebastian been poetic in nature, he might have found something ironic in the lack of a moon; the only light came from the streetlamps. Dressed in durable black, with leather gloves and a black cap, Sebastian made his way to the back door, where the only lock was a deadbolt. Seb had a stack of stolen credit cards for this very situation- he slipped the card in the crack between the door and the frame, and pushed in, then _up_, forcing the deadbolt lock back, and the door open, letting Moran into the silent kitchen.

It was all steel and metal, shining and clean-very modern, and the domain of a boy with no voice. He considered burning the building to the ground as well, but ultimately decided against it- the neighborhood was too populated, it would take too much time. He moved on through the kitchen, carefully toeing off his shoes and walking by the cupboard his, soon-to-be, ward, was imprisoned. Seb made no sound as he went up the stair, one at a time, again with absolute silence and caution-one creak, one misstep, could either wake Harry, or his targets.

No one ever called Sebastian Moran forgiving; and the only thing left to decide, as he stands outside the master bedroom, drawing his bowie knife, how to kill them. Precise as a surgical instrument? Or clumsy, a first time killing? In the end, making sure his fingers trembled, Sebastian strode into the room and locked it behind him. He cut Petunia and Vernon Dursley's throat from ear to ear. The pain is almost unbearable, he imagines, as their eyes shutter open with the waterfall of crimson that cascades down them and onto his front. The clutch at their throats and gurgle wetly, but Vernon loses consciousness almost as fast as it came. Petunia manages to stumble out of bed, but tangles her feet in the bed sheet, and hits the ground with a heavy 'thump'. She does not get up again. Dudley's death is much the same as his father, save for a brief glint of fear, and even a tear slipping down his cheek. Sebastian does not like him, but he closes his eyes out of respect anyway; the boy never had a chance, not with parents like Vernon and Petunia.

Sebastian gathers some clothes and even a few toys for Harry-he also takes the jewelry in Petunia's jewelry box, and all the legal documents from the safe beneath their bed (the combination is their son's birth date).

Sebastian wasn't as careful coming down the stairs as he was going up; he heard movement from the cupboard, and prepared himself for whatever he might find.

The door was padlocked, with a single vent for air- as cruel as that was, even that small blessing could be closed. Sebastian picked the padlock with no trouble, not even bothering to catch it when it hit the floor. Instead he took a calming breath, and opened the door.

Harry was crowded into the cupboard, pulling himself into the corner, away from the open door. There was almost no space in the little cupboard, but Sebastian got a full look at his living arrangements; a small, threadbare dog bed, and a ragged blanket. There was a bucket in the corner, and a single bottle of water. Several broken toys were on the shelves among cleaning supplies and neatly folded clothes. Most disturbing of all, though, is the sign, written in emerald crayon taped to the door, reading **Harry's**.

"Hello, Harry." Sebastian said quietly, scooting back a bit; close enough to catch the boy if he tried to run, far enough to give him some space.

Harry squinted at him for a moment before recognition bloomed on his face. "You're the man from before!" He whispered, "the man who talked to me about the flowers. Paul." Sebastian nodded, deciding now would not be the time to inform him of the minor deceit. "Why are you here?"

"Would you like to leave here, Harry?" Harry looked at Sebastian, floored. Leave Aunt and Uncle? Why would Sebastian want him?

"I can't."

"Would you like to? I can arrange it. I need your answer, now." Sebastian said levelly; they had plenty of time, but he didn't want to be here for long if he could help it.

"Where would I go?"

"With me. I'll find you a place, a _home_. I swear it." Sebastian held out a hand to Harry. Sebastian Moran was not a empathetic man, but he was sincere in this. He would take him, or find him a foster home, or someone to adopt him, even. He would find somewhere for this boy to go, with or without Jim's help. All of this shone in his dark eyes for a moment-just one brief moment. Harry saw it (Little neglected Harry, who'd never known a kind look or word, who'd been taught since birth that he was unwanted and unnatural and not worth affection, and now the child who'd never known but wanted seized this opportunity with both hands) and took Sebastian's hand without hesitation.

Sebastian pulls the boy from the cupboard, nearly supporting his weak, emaciated little body.

(Years later, Harry will smile and hug his father, telling him, _"it was like being born again.")_

* * *

Sebastian stole a couch pillow and a spare blanket from the Dursley's and made up a makeshift bed for Harry in the backseat of his (stolen) car. The boy had fallen asleep almost immediately, not making a sound and not moving as Seb drove the deserted highways. He drove for 45 minutes before stopping and buying a box of saltines, several large bottles of water, and a pack of jell-o (he debated about a popsicle, but decided that it could wait until they got to the townhouse).

Because it's London, they hit traffic, and are in a gridlock for nearly 3 hours more than Seb calculated. Harry had woken up an hour before reaching the house, and gratefully began to devour the procured food, until Seb scolds him gently ("You need to eat slower, Harry, or you'll sick up all over my car." At the frightened look the boy gave him, Seb quickly assured him that "everyone gets sick, but I'm not in a position to do anything about the mess is all. You'll still be staying with me for a bit."). It's during this waiting period that Seb informs him that his first name is actually Sebastian. Harry took it in stride; it certainly wasn't the first time that a grown up had lied to him.

Harry was almost certain that this was a dream, that he'd wake up in his cupboard again to Aunt Petunia's shrieking. He was terrified of it, and, had he not been so sore and bruised, he would have pinched himself until he was in that state anyway. Sebastian was intimidating, but not quite like Uncle Vernon. Uncle Vernon was scary because he was so big, and used his size to intimidate and hurt Harry. Sebastian, unlike Uncle Vernon, was muscled and powerful, and could definitely take on Uncle Vernon- but he was nice. He didn't smile, precisely, not with his mouth- Mr. Sebastian smiled with his eyes. Harry trusted him.

The London morning of that first day was grey and misty, but, to Harry, he'd never seen a day more lovely. And he told Mr. Sebastian so. Mr. Sebastian smiled with his eyes and shook his head.

"Just wait til you get interested in the ladies. You'll rethink that statement." Harry shrugged and stared out the window; he'd never been to London, and he was fascinated by the chaos and monochrome color scheme.

Sebastian hadn't meant to get attached to the brat (he meant it affectionately, honest), just save him.

But, as he pulled up to Jim's current (and favorite) little bolt hole, he worried for the boy he'd taken into his care. If Jim didn't want him near (and there was a great chance of that), he might order Harry to be 'fixed'. Sebastian, despite his loyalty to Jim, wasn't positive he could do such a thing to the boy who smiled so carefully, just because he was fed and talked to like a human being.

However, he was Sebastian Moran. He had faced battle head on and conquered fear without mercy. He did so now, quelling the growing hesitance with an iron fist, he put a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder as the boy climbed out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

"Is this your home?" Harry asked hesitantly, suddenly shy.

"Yes. Come on, then." He led the small boy up the steps and unlocked the door.

Had he been a religious man, Sebastian would have prayed.

As it was, he simply hoped Jim wasn't in one of his moods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you, everyone who reviewed, faved and followed Patience from the first chapter- this has actually done better in one chapter than most of my others in 3 or more. Thank you so much! **

**There will be some humor and references to abuse in this chapter. Before anyone complains, yes, I know that Moriarty is psychotic, but as this is a fanfic, it doesn't matter- in this story, in my head, he is a damaged individual, and sees a kindred soul in Harry. I admit, I probably, most definitely, in fact, romanticized Moriarty and Moran- both as characters and their relationship- but I admit it.**

**I don't own Harry Potter, or Sherlock, or any characters regarding the two fandoms.**

**Please remember to review, it just makes me feel good about my work.**

**PS- does anyone know if Severin and Sebastian are actually brothers, or is that just a thing that the fandom has put together? **

James Moriarty was a man who loved surprises.

That morning, eating leftover Chinese takeaway (despite what Sebby believed, he knew how to cook. The food just always came out burnt is all) and dressed, for once, in casual sweats and a T shirt (advertising a concert from 5 years ago), he heard the front door open with a resonant 'snick', and knew that his Tiger had finally come home. Finishing the last bite of almond chicken, he stood up and tossed the carton into the trash. He didn't miss Seb, not at all; but the sniper was certainly useful to have around the house, even just by acting as a sounding board when the thoughts in Jim's head were too much. He made his meals and cleaned up after him, and could read Jim's moods as easily as a sailor read the weather. And certainly it was appreciated to have someone who accepted his volatility and ethics (or lack there of), and expected nothing from him.

So no, Jim didn't miss Seb.

He was just getting up to greet him because he felt like it, was all, and it was no one's business that he walked a tiny bit faster to do so.

Seb locked the door behind him, and Jim gave him a slight grin. When Seb didn't return it, he got suspicious and narrowed his eyes.

"Is it done?" Jim asked, not concerned, but…suspicious. Yes. Seb always completed his errands, he had absolute faith in him, but something in Seb's face was different.

"Yeah, look, boss, I…" Seb closed his eyes and hoped (read: prayed) that this didn't end as horribly as he'd been fearing in the last 30 seconds. Instead, he went out on a limb and stepped to the side, revealing Harry.

Jim blinked, honestly surprised. Sebastian had returned from his errands in all states; at peace, furious, neutral, even pleased. He'd returned with new memories, injuries, scars, sometimes covered in gore, and occasionally toting along a new souvenir- never a souvenir quite of this nature, though.

Why the bloody hell did Sebby have a kid with him?

Jim sneered at Sebastian, who didn't look away. "Harry," he said quietly, and the boy looked at him, "this is my employer, Jim. Jim, this is Harry." Harry didn't know what to think of Jim-something in his eyes reminded him of the wild cats that occasionally strayed to the neighborhood; they would allow you to pet them, play the part of the house pet, but only to get what they wanted. But Mr. Sebastian seemed to trust him…

Jim's dark eyes flickered to Sebastian; Seb knew from experience that he wasn't feeling homicidal, at least not yet. He had time, an opportunity, to explain himself and what he'd found, why he'd saved the boy. He crouched beside Harry and said, quietly, "Harry, I want you to go into the kitchen and sit at the table please. If you're hungry, there should be a banana or something of that nature. Sit at the table and don't move yes? Down the corridor, the door on the left." Harry, conditioned to following orders, did so without question, carefully skirting around Jim.

This paused the oncoming storm of Jim's temper, just a bit. He turned to look at the boy more closely, and blinked when Harry flinched away. The grimness in his eyes faded, replaced instead by cold understanding.

When the kitchen door shut behind him, Jim turned back to Seb, and said, firmly, "explain."

Seb didn't look away from Jim, and began to talk. "Dursley had him in the house; in my file, there was no information on him. I couldn't find any birth certificate, a social security number, nothing on him. The local school he went to doesn't require a birth certificate or documentation, just a guardian's signature. According to Harry, Petunia was his mother's older sister; he was left there after his parents died in a car accident."

"Let me guess," Jim said, crossing his arms, "you've looked into it?"

"There are no records of a fatal car accident in the time frame that Harry was left there. I looked into Petunia's records, she had a younger sister named Lily, but past the age of 11 there is nothing. There's no record of marriage, of graduation, or anything about her. It's like she vanished."

"No proof of death?"

"No." Jim nodded, that _was_ interesting, but certainly not enough to take the boy from his home. It was beginning to make sense, but he waved Seb on. "No. There is nothing. They make him miss school, often- they tasked him unreasonably. He mowed the lawn, weeded the garden, cleaned the house- he did nearly everything, despite his size."

"Overtaxing a child isn't enough for you to remove the boy from his home, Sebby. The rest of the story now, if you please." Jim began to circle Seb in the narrow hallway, much like a wild animal.

But then, that was Jim. Jim would always do things his way, no matter what society expected of him- he had clawed his way from the dirt. He was corrupt, he was his own man- secure in his knowledge that what he was, while not normal, was simply _James Moriarty_ and anyone who had a problem with that could go fuck themselves. Seb knew this with all his heart, and he had no illusions about Jim. He didn't care.

Of all his employers, Moriarty, for all his tricks and deceptions with everyone else, not once had Moriarty lied to him personally, or masked his intentions.

_So, this was the infamous Moriarty? The little upstart that had all the bosses of the underworld nervous? _

_Somehow, he had expected someone taller. Not some little Irishman in a snappy suit and a smile like the sharp edge of a blade._

_"What is it that you want from me, Mr. Moriarty?" _

_"Oh please, call me Jim. What I want Mr. Moran, y'know, that's ridiculously stuffy, I think I'll call you Sebby! Anywho, I need a killer, Sebby, and I hear that you're the best in the business."_

"They beat him, Jim. They beat him, starved him and locked him in a cupboard. They called him a freak." Seb hissed, noticing the way Jim's eyes narrowed. No one else would have noticed, but Seb did, and continued talking. "I've talked to him, sir. He's bright- he wants to learn, he drinks in any attention you give him. He'd be anything you could want. Just...if you won't let me take him, help me find a place that will." And that was all; cards on the table, bottom line.

Jim tutted. "You always were a bleeding heart when it came to children, Tiger." Jim closed his eyes, allowing scenarios to play out like a film before his eyes, finally seizing on the best. "There are no witnesses?" Seb shook his head. "The boy's cousin won't talk?" Seb closed his eyes and Jim raised an eyebrow, "the boy too? My, my, it must have been quite the house of horrors!" Jim chuckled, before patting the taller man on the shoulder. "I'll take care of it, Seb."

Seb felt relief flood him, but only nodded, keeping his face carefully neutral. This was more than he could have hoped for; Jim was taking Harry under his protection. That was the safest place for the boy to be; not only could Jim arrange anything, he could smooth this over.

Harry was a good kid, even Seb could see it. He was good, he was eager to please, and he was smart, despite his spotty education. For all that, he was soft- he had no armor to protect himself from the world. Jim could fix that.

"Sebby, what's his name again?" Jim asked suddenly, his eyes lighting up.

"Harry. Harry Potter." The light in Jim's eyes didn't die- in fact it got brighter, and he seemed almost gratified. A wide, dangerous smile bloomed, before Jim threw back his head and laughed like a madman.

It lasted for some minutes, before it died out, the grin remaining. Jim patted Sebastian on the shoulder.

"Congratulations, Sebby; you just brought me a protégé and the most valuable bargaining chip of the wzarding world, all wrapped up in one little boy!"

* * *

Jim Moriarty's mother was a bitter woman in life.

Dione Moriarty nee Black despised her muggle husband and had little interest in her son from birth until the age of 6, when he first inquired about magic. She retreated into the bottle when Jim was small and never fully came out of it. She spent her days either tipsy, blatantly intoxicated, or nursing a bitter hangover. As such, she had never been in a position to protect her young son from his father's fits of rage, or to counsel the boy into learning healthy ways to channel his boredom and aggression. Dione was the youngest sister of Orion Black, and a squib. Had she possessed any trace of magic, she knew that she would have been highly prized; not only was she from the Ancient Noble House of Black, she was beautiful to boot, and (though this point could be argued), she was fiercely intelligent. By the time that she was 11 years old, her parents had disowned her.

Dione had married the muggle William Moriarty, a factory worker, and had been trapped in a life of hard work and suffering. By the time that Jim was born, she had lost all interest in everything and spent most days in bed, mourning the life that was her birthright.

Jim remembered sitting at his mother's feet, covered in bruises (given by a heavy handed, staunch Irish catholic father), and asking her to teach him about magic.

It had been the first time that she'd ever smiled at him; Dione had a beautiful smile. The years of sadness and injustice melted away from her in that instant.

Dione had taught Jim about the culture that he should have been born to. They came in bursts and erratically, but she told him everything and his greedy mind devoured every word and historical fact that she knew. It never occurred to Dione that, perhaps, her own son could have the magic that had bypassed her- or, perhaps it did, and she had been to jealous of the thought to act on it. Jim, almost never sentimental, liked to think it was the first. In either case, Jim had never been tested for magic- later, he wouldn't care; he didn't need magic.

Jim didn't need magic to build his web, although he had several wizards and witches under his payroll to keep him updated on the goings on in the world of magic; all of them were muggle born and had difficulty assimilating in the world they had been raised in. It turned out that for all Hogwarts promised, it had taught none of the classes that the non magical world valued- no math, sciences, or English. For muggle borns who couldn't get a job in the magical world, this had been a death sentence, as they were stuck working minimum wage jobs, mostly under the table. They didn't care what the Ministry bothered to do- any bit of money helped out.

One of the biggest pieces of news Jim had gotten 6 years ago was the fall of the Dark Lord to an infant by the name of Harry Potter. Dione had told Jim about Voldemort's beliefs; while she personally didn't believe in them, she couldn't comment on them because of her life, although her peers had worshipped him. Harry had been spirited away by Dumbledore to some unknown location as the MoM struggled to regain control.

And now it was all coming together.

* * *

Harry had eaten two bananas while Mr. Sebastian and Mr. Jim talked. He took care to eat slowly and carefully, like Mr. Sebastian had said to do, wondering about what they were talking about, and what it was that Mr. Sebastian and Mr. Jim did for a living to earn such a comfortable house in London. He was no judge, but some of the pictures that he passed in the hall looked quite expensive, as well as the furniture, even if it didn't quite match up.

He rather liked this kitchen; it wasn't quite as modern as Aunt Petunia's- it was a comfortable mix of the old and new, with wood and marble. It wasn't warm, per say, but it was much more comfortable. Even in here, the place seemed rather mashed together- the table and the chairs weren't from the same set, although the counters and cupboards were of the same design, it all looked secondary. It was a nice touch.

Harry swung his feet and looked around, wondering about things.

He wondered why Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had finally given him up, and for what in return. For all that his relatives complained about him, and threatened to give him away to an orphanage, he had sincerely doubted that they would; who else would do the chores? Hard working Vernon? Delicate Petunia? Dudders? They wouldn't have given him to Mr. Sebastian without prompting, or without getting something in return. Money, maybe? And anyway, why did Mr. Sebastian help him? He wasn't worth it, he didn't think- he'd asked for help at school, knew that it wasn't right for his only family to treat him the way that they did, but nothing ever came of it. Adults who had looked concerned when he'd spoken to them, had either forgotten by the next day or accused him of lying (those were the ones that had called on Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, and those nights were the hardest, because he'd been a bad freak and had told).

Maybe Mr. Sebastian just needed a houseboy.

No, he said he'd help.

Everyone has a different version of _help,_ his mind hissed.

But he didn't think that Mr. Sebastian was lying when he promised to find him a home. And then there was the fact that he'd been so nice-he'd even fed him!

When Jim and Sebastian entered the kitchen, Sebastian was still shell shocked; Magic? Magic existed, and the boy was a wizard. Dear God, what had he gotten himself into? When had his life become so complicated? Of course, Jim was careful to only give him the basics, but it was still a lot to take in.

Jim smiled at Harry, who ducked his head shyly. He couldn't help but chuckle slightly at him, before pulling out the chair opposite him and sitting down. He turned to Sebby and waved him away, "go clean yourself up or something Seb, we'll talk later." Seb could only nod numbly before leaving. A shower was what he needed- time to calm himself in private.

Harry watched him walk away with some interest before his lips thinned.

"Got a question, Harry?" Jim asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, what's wrong with Mr. Sebastian? He looks look he's going to be sick." Harry pointed out; Jim grinned. The fact that Harry could read a person that well meant good things; pointing out something as innocently as he did sounded simple, but was not. Seb had quite the poker face; the only signs of his distress were the slight pinching at the eyes, and a slight pallidness that made his scars stand out.

"I broke him." Jim shrugged.

"Oh. That seems awfully mean." Harry said timidly, and Jim rolled his eyes.

"There's something you need to know about that, Harry." Jim leaned in close, and Harry's eyes widened. "It's **fun** to break people." Harry took it in like he'd spoken the gospel, and Jim knew that this was the boy who could have been his. "So, Seb took you from the Dursley's?"

Harry nodded, "he said he'd find me somewhere better. Someplace that would want me." Jim nodded solemnly, tapping his chin in mock thought.

"What if I took you in?"

"Y-you would?"

"Of course I would! You can stay with me; I'll teach you everything that I know. You'll go to school, get to learn. Or, in any case, the best tutors." Jim leaned back, pleased as the boy followed him, arms on the table, leaning forward, just like he had a moment ago. Body language really revealed a lot about people; this revealed that he had Harry hooked. "You'd never have to do those awful chores again, never have to miss a meal- or punished like the Dursley's punished you."

Jim could see it; saw that yearning for acceptance, for _everything_ that he wanted-from family to knowledge.

As alien as it was, Jim wanted to be the one to give Harry everything. He wanted to teach him the secrets of the world; teach him how to spin his own webs, the secrets of the trade. This boy could be his son, they looked so close in appearance. Maybe that was where this feeling was stemming from. Frankly he didn't care. He wanted this boy, but he wouldn't force it.

"D'you...I'll stay. If you want me, that is." Harry admitted, quietly, looking almost surprised when Jim reached out and ruffled his hair.

"Great! First things first, I need to make a few calls. Can you keep yourself occupied in here for a bit?" Harry nodded numbly and Jim retrieved his cell phone, dialing first the physician he had on his payroll and then a few other people to be on the Dursley investigation.

* * *

**Thursday, April 17th, 19****

_**The Whinging Gazette**_

_Gruesome Discovery in Suburban Neighborhood_

_by Sean Penn_

_It was discovered on Tuesday morning that one of our own, a family native to Little Whinging that is, was murdered in their own home in cold blood. The Dursley family, of Number 4 Privet Drive, was discovered by Ms. Arabella Figg, a next door neighbor, who went to check in on the family after seeing no activity in almost 3 days. "It had me worried," Figg admitted to officers, "you could set your watch by the Dursley's." The family, consisting of husband, Vernon, wife, Petunia, and son, Dudley, were found murdered in their beds, throats slit. _

_According to neighbors, the Dursley's were well liked in the neighborhood, and will be sorely missed._

_According to investigator Perkins, head of the Surrey police station, one member of the household was spared the brutal massacre; the Dursley's 7 year old nephew Harry Potter. Potter is at this time missing; anyone who knows anything is instructed to contact the Surrey Police._

* * *

Albus Dumbledore wasn't present when the wards in his office activated, letting him know that Harry Potter had left the Dursley's property. He wasn't even in the country- he was at an international meeting of Light wizards; a visit which consisted of swapping spells (which Dumbledore didn't do, instead listening and taking note), drinking tea, and eating entirely too many pastries (an activity that Dumbledore gladly took part in). By the time that he returned a week later, the alarm and the wards had stopped sounding.

By this time, Harry Moriarty (Jim, because he wasn't comfortable with calling him Dad yet, had said to Harry, "you can pick a new name, if you'd like." Harry had shaken his head. His name was the only thing that he had from his parents, and said so. Jim had shrugged and said, "suit yourself." and Sebastian had given Harry an encouraging eye smile) was being started on a nutrition regimen to bring him up to a healthy weight, as well as working out a tutoring schedule.

Sebastian watched as Jim, who could almost be described as eager, showed Harry the Pythagorean theorem that night, and the brilliant smile when the boy understood; not a grin, not a sneer, but a smile. He decided he rather liked it when Jim smiled, and promised to see it more often.

* * *

**I have nothing against Irish Catholicism; but as Jim is Irish (I googled it), probability points to him being raised Catholic. I'm not bashing on them, but 'spare the rod, spoil the child' and all that bullshit that excuses child abuse. And if you don't believe that Moriarty was abused than something is seriously wrong with your head.**

**Y'know, I actually got into an argument with a teacher of mine. In my history class (my class didn't have to take finals so we spent the week hanging out, talking bullshit, you know), we were discussing movies, specifically Disney and kid movies- pointing out stupid stuff. I said, "Harry Potter is an abused child," and 9/10's of my class was like, "yeah". My teacher goes, "no he wasn't."**

**What the hell does the kid need to do? Hold up a sign like the coyote from Loony Toons (his name is Wile. E. Coyote; I know)?! **

**I accept that we, when writing on the subject, tend to embellish the facts of Harry's canon abuse. I know it, I do- hell, I'm doing it in this story. But the fact is that there are multiple instances in canon where Harry was hit, or struck by his relatives, and then there was the freaking cupboard- that alone would have warranted an investigation from CPS. Anyway, it's got me worried; if a teacher can't spot abuse that is clearly laid out like a road map, then what the hell do they look for in real life? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you so much to everyone who commented back on the abuse thing from my AN in the last chapter! I'm so glad I'm not the only one who believes that Harry was abused. I feel like I should say this in defense to my teacher though, she hasn't read the books; she's only watched the movies, she's got a 4 year old, and I'm sure that she just doesn't want to see the series in such a horrible light and ruin it for her daughter, but thank you for the responses.**

**Thank you, carick of the hunter moon, who pointed me out to some great profiles to investigate (gphoenix51, ARedHair & Kalen Darkmoon), where the abuse was not only addressed but analyzed intelligently, as well as the critical flaws in Dumbledore (most specifically, his tendency to view people as pieces on a chess board and ignore their needs). Thank you also Ency Peterson, who offered some insight about just how unrealistic the Harry Potter series is, and how quick CPS would come knocking on the Dursley's door (I don't know what the UK has, but I'm sure they've got something). Thank you to everyone else who I'm not naming- you guys are keeping me going!**

**This story has already been counted in 12 communities, I'm so happy!**

**Any how, this chapter is mostly fluff- it's going to be little insights into Harry's life with Seb and Jim (also, thank you to the guest, KK, who gave me an idea for one of them. I hope that she reads this and recognizes it, even if I didn't use the example that she gave me), and glimpses into the wizarding world during this time. Next chapter is when things really begin heating up.**

**I don't own Sherlock or Harry Potter, or the story.**

**(ps- if anyone wants the original prompt, ask for it in the reviews, and I'll put it at the bottom of the next chapter)**

**(pss- this is an entirely different timeline for the Sherlockverse; it's after season 3, but Severin Moran wasn't arrested for his terrorist activities, Jim is alive and everyone knows it and so is Sherlock)**

* * *

Dumbledore finally received word from Arabella Figg nearly 3 months after the murder of the Dursley's. By this time, the police investigation had turned toward Harry as a major suspect, or in the very least a person of interest; as the police were initially local, they were all aware of what the Potter brat was like- most were unsurprised and saddened that he'd done something of that nature to his well meaning relatives. The investigation probably would have gone nowhere had it not been for the arrival of New Scotland Yard- tipped off both by the brutal nature of the crime, as well as the suspicious circumstances of the boy's residence, they had been alerted by an anonymous tip.

The investigation was led by DI Greg Lestrade, who quickly noted the fact that he was out of his depth. Without further ado, he called in Sherlock. It had taken less than 10 minutes for Sherlock to shock the police, and gathered neighbors with the truths revealed; no pictures of the boy, a guest room never used, a bedroom filled with toys but without a bed, the dog bed beneath the stairs. No pictures. Harry had been spectacularly abused- other signs, easily and not so easily missed- were brought to light, as well as the fact that an undersized, malnourished 7 year old could not have killed all of his relatives so easily as the locals had wanted to believe.

A deeper investigation also revealed the lack of accurate documentation for Harry. Just where had he come from?

Unable to locate him, or to even find a picture of Harry, the police reluctantly announced the boy as likely dead, by the perpetrator of the crime, no doubt. He was missing for months, before a body matching the description turned up; or, the paperwork did. The proper documentation alerted the authorities that Harry Potter had died in a hospital nearly 50 miles away after a head injury that put him in a coma. The hospital cut the life support, but not before documenting the numerous signs of abuse and neglect.

Albus Dumbledore knew that Harry wasn't dead, despite what Arabella Figg had announced in her reports. He'd immediately checked the Hogwarts registry, only to find that his name was still there. The boy was alive, but not with the Dursley's-this was a problem. Most of his plans hindered on the boy being easy to manipulate, but the balance of probability was that the boy wouldn't know what magic was. Harry would still arrive to this world as ignorant and naïve as a newborn babe. He could still be the guide he needed to be.

* * *

_1.) New Home_

Harry wasn't used to being wanted.

When Jim had said things would be different, he hadn't said how much; he hadn't said that he'd get a room all to himself. A room, not a cupboard. A room that he got to pick out the furniture for, and the decorations- a room that Harry absolutely loved to fall asleep in, because it was undeniably _Harry's_. He loved the soft Four poster bed with the thick emerald comforter, he loved the bookcases, slowly filling with volumes both educational and entertaining, he loved the soft armchair in the corner, and the big oak desk.

Harry wasn't used to any of it, but most of all, he wasn't used to people just wanting him around.

Jim spent a lot of time on the phone, but he could multitask- often he'd speak on his cell and write out problems for Harry to solve with his other hand. He taught Harry about numbers, which he seemed to like, so Harry learned to like them too. Jim said numbers were everything, that with a single string of numbers, you could unlock anything. Harry didn't know if he believed this, but worked hard to please him; when he'd lived with his relatives, he hadn't liked mathematics- it had been a difficult subject to follow when he missed so much school. But now that he had someone who wanted to teach him, and make it almost fun, he excelled; it took less than two months before Harry began to see numbers as well.

Harry wasn't used to Sebastian's attention either; the man took care of him whenever he could spare, which was surprisingly often. He made Harry breakfast, or left something in the fridge for him, because Jim didn't know how to cook (Harry decided that he would teach him, but Jim had just glared at Sebastian, who laughed loudly, when Harry brought it up).

Most of all, he wasn't used to the way that Sebastian and Jim seemed to want to take care of him; when the physician showed up the day after he'd arrived and done a full physical, he'd been mortified that they'd seen how thin he was, and the scars. The physician had told them that he needed to go to a real doctor; some of his broken bones needed to be rebroken because they hadn't set correctly, whatever that meant; they also needed to contact a nutritionist about a special diet. If they were lucky, his permanent growth hadn't been stunted too badly, but they needed to make up for the nutrients that he'd been denied, and for now had to be careful with him. Harry had his eyes checked (his aunt had bought his second hand when his primary school nurse said he needed an eye exam), and received new glasses (contacts wouldn't suit his eyes, because of how they were shaped, apparently). Jim and Seb took him shopping, buying tasteful clothes both for play and for dress.

Harry slowly adjusted to the new life he'd been given; he slowly stopped having to force himself to eat slowly. He stopped sneaking food into his pockets. Slowly, he stopped shrinking away when Jim reached out to touch his shoulder, or when Seb ruffled his hair. He learned to laugh at Jim's inconsistencies, and Seb's gentle acceptance of it.

The first time he calls Jim 'Dad', Jim celebrates by making, and burning, a 3 layer double chocolate cake.

They both eat it anyway, and Harry thinks that it might be the best meal he's ever had.

(In Seb's room, there's a deep burgundy photo album, bought shortly after he'd brought Harry to London, and in it are pictures that he's taken since he had the sense to do so, the very day after Harry arrived. The very first picture within it is of that dinner, with Harry smiling at the camera, his face covered in chocolate frosting.)

* * *

_2.)_ _Nightmares_

Harry suffered from nightmares for months, but Seb was most often the one to comfort him.

He would wake up screaming and sobbing, and Seb, who had never truly snapped out of battle mode and still had the reflexes from his years in military combat and as a mercenary, would wake up to it in more of a panic than he would ever admit. The first time it had happened, he had burst into Harry's room with a hand gun. That had scared the boy into further hysterics. Jim had entered the room and they managed to calm him down with calm reassurances and several mugs of hot chocolate.

Harry suffered from dreams of bright green light, or else he dreamed of life back at the Dursley's, where they locked him in the cupboard under the stairs and never came to get him.

"It's scary when I first wake up, because it's so dark in my room, and I think all this was a dream, and that I really am in the cupboard again." Harry admitted once, before he started sobbing again. Seb put an arm around his shoulders and said it was alright. Seb stayed up with the boy until he fell asleep again at nearly 4:30, by that time Seb just couldn't go back to sleep- but he was still exhausted, and instead struggled to stay awake.

When he told Jim about the nightmare in the morning (over a cup of black coffee, or 4). Jim said nothing, merely stood up from the table and left the house, despite Sebastian's questioning inquiries about his destination. Jim returned an hour later and said nothing, so Sebastian forgot about it.

That night however, Harry entered his room to find several nightlights plugged in and brightly lit.

* * *

_3.) Uncle_

It isn't often that Severin hears from Sebastian. It's better for the both of them, all things considered; Severin went into politics like their father had wanted, had a prestigious seat, but Sebastian was a criminal- even though he was Severin's younger brother. Admittedly, they do try to contact one another once a month, but never before has Seb deliberately sought him out and told him to meet up.

He wonders if maybe something has happened to Sebastian's employer, who he only knew by Jim. Sebastian probably wasn't aware of it, but Severin had noticed the frequency that Seb spoke of Jim. His baby brother might not show affection, but he certainly felt it for people- usually without being aware of it himself. He wondered just how long until he acted on it.

Either way, Severin sat down in the restaurant that Sebastian had given him instructions to and picked up a menu as he contemplated his younger brother.

"Hey, Sev." Severin smiled and turned to look up, only to be met with emerald eyes at about table height.

A small boy stood next to Seb, watching him curious, faintly frightened, eyes. Opening his mouth, the boy ducked behind his brother, who sighed. "Sev, this is Harry. Harry, this is my brother, Severin." Severin smiled at Harry, who returned it politely, but still looked rather frightened.

The pair sat down, and Sev watched amusedly at the subtly tender was Seb acted towards Harry. He was caring, but not nagging, reminding him, quietly, to say thank you to the server who took their drink orders- and the boy looked at his brother with total awe. Little things were the most interesting- the quiet way Sebby would suggest this or that dish ("that one's too heavy for you stomach yet, Harry", "that isn't quite as healthy as it looks"), the way Harry looked to Sebastian for confirmation with anything he'd said.

"So, illegitimate son?" Severin asked while Harry used the loo, and the brothers had a moment of privacy.

Sebby snorted and looked around for a waitress, Sev knew that this was just a stalling tactic. "No, he's my ward. Well, sort of; he's Jim's...apprentice, and one of my new tasks is to look after him." Sebastian shrugged, but Sev raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know why you try and lie to me, little brother. You care about him, obviously. Now, what was the point of bringing us together?" Sebastian actually looked nervous at this, so Sev mentally prepared himself for whatever his brother had done.

"I...Jim's got Harry calling him 'Dad' now," Seb began, very quietly, "he's even slipped and called me father. I don't mind!" He was quick to assure, reading the look on his brother's face, "but the fact is, if he wants us to be a family, he needs to accept that he has an uncle. I want him to get used to you, before I tell him that, though, because it's a bit of big deal..." It was at times like this that Severin thought his little brother looked like an overgrown teenager, nervous about asking out a girl.

"I take it that he had problems with his previous uncle?" Severin asked, Seb nodded. When he didn't elaborate, they continued to wait on the food in silence. The Moran family was neither vocal, nor expressive, but they knew one another well enough to just enjoy the relative peace.

As Harry came back, he gave Severin a look that could be best described as; "who are you and what are you to me". The look was so familiar to Sev because he'd seen it on the faces of others in his occupation; if the boy had developed the look this early in life, Severin decided that he'd try and get to know Harry a bit better, like Sebastian had said.

Watching Harry wheedle (it wasn't all out begging like Severin had seen, or the demands of a greedy child; it was quite the little manipulation) Sebastian into letting him have dessert after breakfast only confirmed it; his new nephew would make quite the politician.

* * *

_4.) Meetings_

It was difficult to get used to having a child sit in on the meetings. But Jim managed it, and even the few associates who'd ever seen his face got used to Harry; he'd either sit in the corner playing quietly, or doing anything without noise, or sitting near Jim, listening to every word.

Like everything concerning Harry and Jim, it happened entirely by accident; for the first month of his staying with Seb and Jim, Seb had taken minor assignments in London, and Jim had put off all meetings and anything that could take him away from his new son. Harry had often spent an hour or two by himself in the parlor. However, one afternoon he entered quietly, like Harry did everything, and discovered Jim speaking with several men and one rather imposing looking woman. Harry had moved to close the door, but the movement had caught Jim's peripheral.

"Ah, Harry!" Jim turned back to the others and said, in a voice that both made Harry feel very safe, and very afraid, "I trust my son's staying in the room won't be a problem?" All of those present were quick to agree. Jim smiled at Harry encouragingly, who swallowed nervously. "Come on in then, just be quiet while we talk, yes?"

"A-alright." Harry said, slinking past the group into his usual corner.

He listened to Jim's voice as he read his book, _The Art of War_ by Sun Tzu; Jim had bought it for him on their first outing to the bookstore, and Harry had been reading it dutifully; he still tripped over some of the words, either their pronunciation, or their meaning, and he had a bit of difficulty with some concepts, but he got most of it, Jim had been pleased to note to Seb. He wondered what it was that Jim did for a living to get all this money, because he knew that everything his new father had given him wasn't cheap- all of his clothes were well made and durable, their food was organic (he knew this because Sebastian had told him so one morning while he made breakfast and Harry helped- not because he was _made_ to, but because he _wanted_ to), and Jim had a lot of pretty things in the house.

These meetings became a way for the two to spend time together; Harry never knew the details of the meetings, but he paid attention to most things and parroted what he'd learned when Jim's guests left them alone, escorted out of the house by Seb.

* * *

_5.) Accidents and Friends_

The first time that Seb witnesses Harry's accidental magic, it's minor, but Sebastian almost had a heart attack anyway.

They're at the park, on one of Seb's rare afternoons off, and Harry's on the swings. Seb gets him started, pushing him as high as he wants, before letting him swing on his own.

It's a bright day in summer, the park teeming with children and color- the grass is emerald, the sky is cerulean, with white puffy popcorn clouds. It's like something straight out of a book. Seb, ever vigilant, scans the people in the crowd for constant danger. There is nothing but parents with children, nannies, the occasional teen babysitting, or there with a significant other.

"Sebby! Watch this!" Harry shouts; that, more than anything is what makes Sebastian look at him; Harry is a quiet child by adaptation. He is respectful and polite, but he is happy. However, he never calls him Sebby, like Jim; it's always Sebastian, Seb, or, if he has an episode, Mr. Sebastian. Harry _never_ calls him Sebby; so something is making him happy, and he wants to see this. He turns and is blinded by the sight of Harry at the highest point of the swing, and the look of joy there- the suffering is all gone, and now that he's put on weight he looks like a child and not a refugee. He watches this, and then realizes in a heart stopping second what Harry is about to do, just as he does it.

Harry lets go of the swing and jumps, and just as Sebastian takes off, he realizes that he doesn't need to; Harry is falling at a speed too slow to be normal, practically _floating_ down. There's only a split second of confusion before Sebastian realizes that this is what Jim meant when he brought up accidental magic.

_"He'll learn to control it in time," Jim admitted shrugging, "but for now it's mostly instinct. He'll test his boundaries, of course, for now. Just make sure he isn't to obvious when he tests those boundaries." _

_Sebastian sipped his orange juice and saw the smile almost melt off Jim's face. "Of course, the problem is the Dursley's." Sebastian raised an eyebrow, and Jim just waves his hand dismissively. "I know they aren't an obstacle **now**, or course; the question is how much damage did they do to Harry's psyche? Obviously the abuse was partly fueled by their fear of magic, his," Jim's lip curled in disgust, "**freakishness**. Children are remarkably impressionable; the abuse he suffered may have forced him to, subconsciously, cut the magic out of himself."_

_"Can a person do that?" Sebastian asked; magic was a bit more than he understood, but he understood that he cared about Harry. He didn't want anything to affect him from the Dursley's._

_"Children do it all the time. They repress what makes them a target, and soon enough the skill in question is no longer there. In my elementary school, there was a girl who could write with both her left hand and her right- the teachers hit her with a ruler every time she used her left hand, and punished her- no recess, standing in the corner. Finally, she couldn't take the pressure and began using her right hand exclusively. She was never able to write with her left hand again- after some time she'd even forgotten she ever could." Jim almost sounded sad about this._

_"How do you know that she forgot it completely?"_

_"I ran into her a few years ago- she was a contact for a thief I wanted under my employ. We spent the night together; she remembered me, but not that she was ever ambidextrous." Sebastian nodded and chose to believe that the sour feeling in his gut was the acidity of the orange juice._

The joy on Harry's face is gone when he looks up at Sebastian'; he's so scared about disappointing him, and all Sebastian can do is lean down and scoop him up (despite putting on weight and going on the diet recommended, Harry is still small and thin; it worries Jim as much as Sebastian, because they don't know how much of it is genetic, and how much is an echo of his early life). Harry lets himself be held for a moment. At that second, there is no park; no screaming children, no crowds who might be watching. All that exists is the knowledge that his (father?) accepts him and his abnormalities.

"It's alright, Harry. I didn't mean to scare you. I promise." Seb whispers, beginning to walk toward the benches. "What you did is amazing; it's wonderful, and brilliant, but you shouldn't do those things in public. Remember what Jim and I said? The golden rule?" Sebastian prompted gently.

Harry's hands fisted themselves in Seb's jacket. "Never attract attention." Harry mumbled, ducking his head in shame. "I'm sorry." Seb petted Harry's head softly and set him down on the ground in front of him, firmly grasping Harry's shoulders-not painfully, but in a way that made Harry look up at him.

"No, Harry. You don't need to be sorry. There is **nothing** wrong with what you just did- it's special, it's wonderful, and both Jim and I are glad you have this gift. Just try not to do it in public, alright?" Seb explained. Harry liked Seb's eyes- most people didn't like to meet them, frightened by his imposing air, but Harry knew that Seb told the truth by his eyes. Harry nodded, feeling better, but gave Seb one last hug before running off to play.

Despite the attention and care, Harry still retained some reflexes from his time with the Dursley's. Like Sebastian, Harry looked for threats everywhere. He saw the imposing boys that reminded him too sharply of his cousin, all hanging around the picnic table, and steered clear of it, carefully. He noted the over attentive mothers. Everyone was on his radar, at least vaguely- including one little girl that he found rather interesting. She was seated underneath one of the trees; she was dressed primly, despite her bushy brown hair, reading a rather thick book that Harry wondered if she could understand.

He wasn't sure why, but he found himself walking over to her.

"Hi, I'm Harry Potter, what're you reading?"

"My name is Hermione Granger, and it's called _Return of the King._ By Tolkien."

"Is it any good?" Harry asked, taking a seat next to her. Hermione faltered, no one had ever wanted to sit by her. But the question gave her courage and she pushed on.

"It's brilliant! Have you read _Lord of the Rings_, or _the Hobbit_?" She asked, Harry shook his head.

"No, but I will! Dad buys all the books I want; I love to read." Hermione looked as if Christmas had come early, and Sebastian, who'd watched the entire exchange, laughed and shook his head.

* * *

_6.) Birthdays and Acknowledgement_

It had taken time, but Jim finally decided on a birthday for his son. On August 17th, Harry Moriarty celebrated his birthday with his Dad, Seb, Severin and the Grangers. The small group was in the dining room as Seb and Jim finished up the final touches on the cake (it had been a bitter argument between them; Jim wanted to make the cake, while Seb said they should just order the thing. Eventually they compromised and worked together to make it).

Seb iced in the final touch (Happy 8th Birthday Harry! in emerald), and scooped up a finger full of leftover icing from the bowl. Jim watched the movement from the corner of his eyes and moved quickly, like a viper- Seb had barely turned around before he got an armful of his boss, who was leaning up and kissing the larger man, and getting the taste of chocolate icing as well. Sebastian wrapped his arms around Jim's waist, while Jim combed his fingers through Seb's hair, loving the soft, but bristly strands beneath his touch.

They kissed until neither could breathe, and then only drew away a bit, Seb resting his forehead on Jim's as they caught their breath.

"Well then." He breathed, Jim just narrowed his eyes and cocked his head.

"You do realize this makes you mine? I'll never let you leave us, Tiger." Jim admitted, and Seb shrugged.

"I can live with that." And Seb kissed him again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, to clarify; just because Jim picked out a new birthday for Harry, that doesn't mean that it showed up on the Hogwarts register, so he will still be in the same year as canon.**

**I'm so sorry that this update took so long, I'm so ashamed! But, well, things have just been happening one after another and I've been doing the best that I can here. This chapter was supposed to be longer, but I wanted to post, so I've had to cut it in half; I'll probably just combine the chapters together once I finish the next one and combine the two. I'm sorry if this doesn't live up to your expectations for the story so far, but please, don't flame me in the comments; this hasn't begun yet and I don't want to break that streak.**

* * *

Harry Moran-Moriarty was a special boy, and he knew it. He knew, not only because his fathers told him, but because he was the son of Jim Moriarty, and at 10 years old, almost 11, he knew exactly what that meant-even if he didn't know _exactly_ how large his Dad's empire extended. Then there was the minor factor of his being a wizard, but he didn't think that it was such a big deal. So, even though he was special, he was still a polite, respectful, if not intense, child; there was no trace of hubris or hauteur about him, mainly because he didn't need to be that way- his Dad said "knowledge is power, and power's wonderful, but you don't want to let everyone know just who they're chatting up. Knowing that you're special is enough-play your cards close if you play them at all." So Harry didn't brag.

Harry's life was heaven-even if you didn't compare it to his early one; Jim and Seb, while not the perfect role models, were certainly the best parents he could have asked for. He wanted and was given; knowledge was what he craved more than anything, and no one was better suited to sate this hunger than Jim Moriarty. Jim Moriarty was a force of nature that could never be tamed; but somehow, thanks to his husband and their son, his head was less in another galaxy, and his mental state was no longer built on sand. He had found a best friend in Hermione Granger, whom the family was almost entirely certain was a witch, though they had elected not to tell her parents; because Jim was unable to use magic, and Harry didn't know how on command most of the time (at least, not to a satisfactory level, with more or less guaranteed results), they would have had nothing to back up the claim, even if the Grangers had let them get that far into an explanation without calling the authorities.

Life was good; it wasn't peaceful, nothing with Jim could be, but it had it's own sense of safety that Harry wouldn't give up for the world.

So of course the letter arrived just when things were going so well.

The letter had sat there as innocuous as could be, but everyone knew what it was. No mail came to the London house directly, they went to 3 different deposit boxes, all with different names and addresses listed, and countless security checkpoints. Harry held it in his hands at the kitchen table (kitchen, not dining room, because this was a family decision, not one pertaining to business), and felt himself sneer; they couldn't even bother to make it _look_ normal-no, parchment and emerald ink, no one passing by on the street will think that's suspicious, especially not with the address listed;

_Mr. Harry Potter_

_4th Bedroom, 2nd Floor_

_397 Trinity Plaza_

_London, England_

Harry saw Jim grasp Seb's hand; both of his fathers looked ready for battle, and that was the only reason that he had the courage to open the letter instead of just burning the damn thing and pretending it never showed up.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…_

Harry abruptly closed the letter and pushed it away like it would bite him. He doesn't want to go, doesn't want to leave the cocoon of safety that he has with his dads, into this unknown world that was so ready to abandon him where he wasn't wanted.

"What do I do?" Harry asked, looking at his fathers, Seb closed his eyes, and Jim licked his lips, eyes hard and unforgiving as obsidian.

Jim's thoughts were a whirlwind of forming plans and myriads of pathways, half over grown with possibilities and variables; releasing Seb's hand, he leaned back in his chair. The tension in the room was nearly solid at this point, but with the razor smile that Jim flashed them, it began to dissipate. He plucked it off the table and stood; he always thought better when he was moving.

The letter was automatic in nature, they wanted a reply, but left no way for a reply to be sent. More would come, and most likely in torrents. A guide as well. Jim breathed deeply and whirled on his heel to look at Seb.

"We're getting up early, Sebastian! We've got to catch the mail. Harry," Jim smiled at the hopeful look his son gave him, "write a letter; ask questions, I know you've got them, specific ones. Word them in a way that leaves no room for a loophole. I've got some work to do!" And with that Jim strode out of the kitchen, leaving Harry and Sebastian to wonder what he had going on in the vast caverns of his head.

Sebastian stood up as well, but instead went to the fridge.

"How about lunch?" Harry wondered if it was because of his dad's occupations that made them so adaptable, or if it was a natural setting of theirs. He wanted to emulate the calmness that they projected, despite the fact he knew they worried about him, about their way of life.

Sebastian made Harry a toasted tuna sandwich, poured him a glass of milk, and cleaned one of his smaller guns at the table; that alone was another clue to how disturbed his father was- Sebastian and Jim didn't believe in flexing power when they didn't need to. However, they did believe in readying for battle- Harry didn't need to be a seer to know something was going to happen between his fathers, most likely Jim, was about to rock the boat of the Wizarding World.

Harry washed his plate and then went to write his letter; it took him 4 drafts, 2 editing sessions and finally 1 print off before he felt that it was ready (printing it off was just a way to poke at the ridiculous parchment, though he didn't feel anything would come of it).

Since Harry's official adoption (official is such a loose term), Jim had actively gathered knowledge about the Wizarding World from his contacts. For the last three and a half years he'd compiled the data into several notebooks- it was from these books that he consulted, as well as his memories about what his mother had used to say about her, once, family.

Despite this, Jim feels wholly unprepared to fight. He will. He loves this family that has assembled- well, loves them as much as he can, in his own strange way.

Self pity and doubt never got anyone anywhere, so Jim won't indulge himself. Instead, he begins to dissemble his files; he circles, he jots down notes, he fact-checks and double checks everything that he can think of and can remember, and when he can't find what he's looking for in the documentation, he calls his contacts (he does not need to yell, but dammit they are stupid). Seb brings him a sandwich and crisps several hours later, only to find their bedroom in ruins; paper and newspapers litter everything.

"You're hard at work, I see." Seb teases, lightly. Jim grunts, waving his hand, but Seb just puts down the plate and walks over, careful not to disturb anything. He sits down next to his husband (they'd gotten married last year; honeymooned in Venice for a month, Harry had loved it-because of course they couldn't leave him behind) and sighs. "What are we going to do, Jim?"

"We're going to find out what they want with our son, and then we're going to beat them at their own game, Sebby." Jim replied, handing him a pack of papers held together with a heavy duty paper clip.

"Who's this, then?" Seb asked, even as he began scanning the papers. They seemed to be articles and notes on a wizened old man that looked like he was either a descendent of, or trying to emulate, Gandalf- minus the color coordination, though he certainly did have his own sense of style, to put it lightly.

"That politician I told you about, uses his occupation as Headmaster as a front? Dumbledore. Manipulative, gombeen*, this one- holds a ridiculous amount of titles; he's also a supporter of muggleborns. He's basically the real governor of their world- their Minister writes to him for advice often and makes decisions based on his advice." Jim paused and sat up to stretch. Sebastian noted that Jim's notes were written in his own coded short hand. "Despite the fact everyone acknowledges him as the most powerful wizard in...forever, I suppose, he never had the bullocks to stand up to Voldemort. Never made the effort. Instead, he spends his time organizing a 'secret' resistance effort." Jim scoffed and Sebastian shared his sentiments.

"Okay, so he doesn't like to get his hands dirty. Why are you so concerned about him?" Sebastian knew they were coming to a point, but at this time, he just wasn't in the mood to jump through hoops for Jim. It was rare that his legendary patience ran out when it came to his husband, but everyone had a limit. Jim knew and moved on- Sebastian was one of two that Jim made exceptions for.

"Since he became headmaster, Dumbledore has slowly been eradicating classes. There are none that teach reading, different languages, music, not even art- what's more he won't teach any kind of Grey or Dark magic- I know that you don't understand, just nod and let me move on, Sebby- and there is no offensive magic. He's basically molding these children into harmless, naïve puppets. At least, that's what it looks like to me, at this point."

"So they don't get taught anything they'll need to get along with in the world that outnumbers them."

"Right."

"Why?"

"As far as I can tell, the Ministry of Magic works under the assumption that all wizards and witches who attend Hogwarts will choose to live exclusively in the Magic Word. Too bad for the Muggleborns, I suppose. Dumbledore, from the reports that I've been given, seems to encourage the racism through his manipulation of the House rivalries."

Seb listened as Jim kept talking, not liking the picture that his husband was painting, or that their son might have to get involved. Probably would get involved, if things kept on the way they were.

"Everyone I've talked to says that Dumbledore has been acting as Harry's spokesperson; monitoring his mail, ensuring that he is educated, which we know is clearly a lie." Jim shifted, before running his fingers through his scalp nervously. "He's sending us a letter inviting Harry to a school that we know nothing about, and is asking us to respond to it; he knows we can't so he's banking on 'emergency measures', he'll probably send someone to persuade us."

"But you're making Harry write the letter."

"We're going to find out what their post is like in the morning Sebby!" Sebastian didn't know whether to be exasperated or to be impressed. He just settled for sighing and taking a crisp off the plate.

Sebastian didn't know why, but he just expected another postman to deliver the next letter, the next morning. He and Jim sat on the front stoop, Jim with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, Harry's letter in the other, while Seb chain smoked his way through the better half of a pack of cigarettes (occasionally, Jim even took a drag).

He did **not** expect an owl to just drop one in their laps, or for Jim to spring up (spilling the coffee) holding out the letter and shouting, "oi! We've got a reply if you'd just wait a minute!" There were a few people who stared, but, like always, Jim didn't give a damn. Instead, he just handed over the letter, plus one that he and Sebastian had written asking their own questions.

The large, imposing, barn owl flew away just as dawn began to break. Not usually one for romance, Sebastian wrapped an arm around Jim; and they just basked in the peace and wondered just how long it would last.

Professor Albus Dumbledore almost couldn't believe it when he received a response from Harry Potter's address, not one but two! He wondered exactly what needed to be said that could warrant two responses, but didn't hesitate to rip open the first envelope, although he was fascinated by the print. Could the family that Harry was residing with now have taught him to use a quill already?

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_Thank you for your invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, however, before accepting the invitation, I have several questions._

_First and foremost, what sort of secondary education is offered after graduation?_

_What sort of classes are there?_

_Are muggle classes (not on the culture, but their education) taught? And if not, what sort of program is there to help students keep up?_

_Sincerely Yours,_

_Harry Moriarty_

Dumbledore choked on his lemon drop; Fawkes trilled sadly as he coughed and pounded on his own chest until it dislodged, and he spat it out onto the desk, where it bounced several times before finally coming to rest on one of the instruments he was so proud of.

This wasn't right; the boy was responding, first of all, but not only that, he was actually questioning things. Harry was reading into the situation and asking important questions! No, no, no, that wouldn't do at all. His hands began shaking, and Dumbledore felt a sense of dread as he turned to the letter that could only be from his...parents. No, not parents; guardians, yes, that is the word.

_Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_Thank you for your invitation to our son, though it wasn't unexpected. We've known for some time that Harry is special. Our son has written his own letter with questions pertaining to his education, however, we have our own._

_What exactly is the system for supervision for your students? How do you divide the years? Where exactly can we get the items that have been listed on Harry's list (which, might I add, is quite presumptuous; Harry has neither accepted the position and we have not given him permission to attend)._

_(_Dumbledore only read the rest of the questions and concerns in pieces, his horror mounting)

_If you would send a representative to explain things, it would be greatly appreciated._

_Thank you._

_James Moriarty and Sebastian Moriarty (ne Moran)_

Dumbledore moaned and put his head in his wizened hands. How could he save this situation? Focus, Albus! There might be a way to salvage the situation yet, if he worked for it.

He had planned on sending Hagrid, the gamekeeper, to collect Harry, and still could find no reason to change the plan; while certainly not the fastest snitch in the shop, Hagrid was loyal to him and only him. Not to mention that the half giant was a threatening figure, and fear tended to silence questions; he was ignorant by nature, and would be unable to answer the questions asked. He was also so bumblingly friendly that people who had a conversation with him often found themselves liking him nonetheless.

Nodding to himself, Dumbledore sent for Hagrid, not paying any mind to the confused way that his familiar watched him; Fawkes' eyes were slightly narrowed, his gaze half calculating and half sorrowful.

It was less than a week later when the Moriarty-Moran family got a response from Dumbledore. They were pleased with the reprieve, and were able to go back to the relative normalcy that was their household when the response finally did come.

In the form of a giant man in a fur coat, blasting down their front door at 6 in the afternoon.

Sebastian responded by drawing a gun and firing off all the bullets in the barrel- into the giant's shoulder of course; they didn't know who he was and they needed to know a lot.

Hagrid had never seen a gun before, let alone had one fired at him. Let alone 6 times. It was enough to make him stumble, but cry out a bit-they'd definitely gotten through his coat; at least one, anyway. Caught by surprise, the half giant was taken down by a muggle wielding a sharp hunting knife to his throat.

"Who are you and what business do you have breaking down the doors of strangers?" The muggle demanded; Hagrid was struck dumb by the sheer viciousness in his dark eyes.

"I'm Rubeus Hagrid, 'ere to collect Harry Potter!" Hagrid grunted out, still too surprised to do much about getting him off.

Sebastian looked to his left, briefly, and met the eyes of Jim; Jim nodded, and Sebastian retreated, knife still in hand. Hagrid gasped and groaned in pain before sitting up and looking at the pair before him; even after working with the creatures he had, he'd very rarely seen the wildness in their eyes.

"Mr. Hagrid, is it? My name is James Moriarty, I'm Harry's father." The smaller one said nodded to him, ignoring his pain; Jim put his hands in his pockets and cocked his head. The (man?) was an idiot, clearly. That could work to their advantage, once he knew the angle to work. He inclined his head to Sebastian, who finally sheathed the knife in his boot. "You've met my husband, Sebastian. Please, come in, I believe that we have things to discuss. Sebby, call Arnett- have him replace the door, please." Sebastian nodded and pulled out his mobile. Hagrid, confused, followed Mr. Moriarty.

Jim led him into the parlor-the one reserved for business. "Please, sit down." He invited, and Hagrid hesitated; he hadn't expected to, one, be shot at by a muggle weapon, and then welcomed by this small, dapper man with strangely cold eyes. "If you'd please remove your coat, I'll take a look at your injury."

Harid found it a tad suspicious that the man knew how to remove bullets, and that he had a first aid kit in the parlor, but didn't say anything about it.

"I apologize for my husband's hasty reaction, however, you _did_ bust down our front door."

"Yeh shouldn' be so ready teh harm when ye've got a boy livin here." Hagrid grunted, Jim raised an eyebrow.

"One can never be too careful in this day and age. Now, you came to 'collect' our son? That can't be right, as we sent a letter to your headmaster requesting information about the magical world." Jim replied calmly, standing up behind the chair opposite to the half-giant. Sitting down would signal equality.

Hagrid shifted. "Dumbledore told me the come an' get Harry an take him to get his school things."

"Wonderful," Jim said, and Hagrid looked up hopefully. "We'll come along as well. We've needed a family outing."

"But…Dumbledore said to only bring Harry." Hagrid repeated, blinking. Jim raised an eyebrow.

"Well, then Harry won't be going." Jim said simply before turning. "Sebby! Bring in the tea, please!" He walked around the room, and Hagrid was reminded of a Hippogriff patrolling it's territory. "Now, before you leave, I must insist on tea."

"Oh, no, tha's-"

"I insist. I get the feeling that we'll be seeing one another again, and I want it to be on good terms." Sebastian entered the room and set the tray on the coffee table. He poured Jim's cup first, knowing how he liked it, before turning to Hagrid and raising an eyebrow.

"Er, just, plain, thanks." Hagrid stammered, Sebastian nodded and poured a separate cup (it was actually a mug, but it was also more durable than the one that Jim had), handing it over without a word.

Finally, Jim sat down, and Seb joined him, consciously turning on his charm, beginning with the gentle smile that often put people off their guard. This did the same for Hagrid, who set down his mug and took off his vast coat AGAIN; moleskin, if Sebastian could recognize the pelt correctly.

"I, er, didn' mean the break down yer door. Dumbledore jes tol' me that I might have some trouble with yeh, yeh see what I'm saying?" Hagrid tried to explain, though he knew it wasn't much of an excuse.

Much to his relief, Jim just nodded, waving the apology away with one hand. "You were worried for Harry, we can respect that. Now, do you mind answering a few questions for us?" Hagrid shrugged, slurping his tea loudly. If Jim had any less self control, he might have twitched. Instead he smiled again, "what kind of education is offered after hogwarts?" At Hagrid's blank look, Jim clarified, "non-magical people have colleges; schools where students study. They take specific classes in accordance with what occupation that they want."

"Ah, I see! Well, Harry will be takin' classes with the first years all together until his 3rd year. In second year he's allowed to pick classes that he'll want for his job, yeh see?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow.

"You expect 12 year olds to make intelligent decisions regarding their future. To stick to the plan they laid out at _12_?" Sebastian asked skeptically, leaning back and crossing his legs. He didn't take his eyes off Hagrid, who shifted. "I expect that students are made aware of what occupation needs what classes?" Hagrid floundered for a moment, before his eyebrows lowered; his thinking was painful to watch.

"I…no. Students have career orientation in 5th year…they normally write home teh ask their family for their opinions." Hagrid admitted, half-heartedly.

"What about the muggle-borns?" Jim asked, and that really got Hagrid's attention.

"I…I suppose tha' they ask their head of house."

"Ah, houses! Another question brought up! What are the houses? How are they sorted? What are the qualifications for each?"

Hagrid perked right up at this new line of questioning; "well there's Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin," there was no disguising the contempt in his voice at the last one, "and Gryffindor. See, at the opening feast, the First Years are sorted by the Sorting Hat; it's put on their heads, and puts them where they belong. Hufflepuff is for the loyal, course, lotsa people think of 'em as duffers, but I say tha' once you find a friend in Hufflepuff, ye'll never want fer company. Ravenclaw's fer the folks that find their friends in books- that lot studies non stop. Gryffindor is for the brave, my old house, ye see. Slytherin's, now, that's a lot that'll throw yeh to the dragons the save their own skins! Cunning and ambitious, they are; not a dark wizard who wasn't in slytherin." Hagrid shuddered and Jim struggled not to let the disgust show on his face; all of the houses had their good sides, and their bad ones- like any trait, your gift was what you made of it. However he didn't react, just let Hagrid continue talking.

He painted a picture that Jim **didn't** like; it was all well and good to gather information, both from the media, and from people who, for the most part, were removed from the situation, but it was another to hear it from one who lived it constantly. The worst part of it, though, was the realization that Hagrid, and probably the rest of his world, had no idea what the hell was wrong with the politics of their own (that and the fact someone had sent a gamekeeper to introduce his son to a new culture, which stunk of a plot).

As much as Jim wanted to keep Harry out of this unknown world, in his own web of safety, he couldn't. Despite how hard he'd worked at it, Harry still had bouts of accidental magic that, once or twice, had been rather dangerous- Jim didn't have the knowledge to teach Harry about his magic, and he couldn't deny him something so important.

They were stuck between a rock and a hard place, in short.

"I suppose you would like to meet Harry, then?" Jim invited, Hagrid stopped talking and looked surprised. He hadn't expected them to just bring the boy out, even with all the pleasantries.

"Yes, I'd like tah see the little tyke, if yeh don't mind." Sebastian chuckled and looked pointedly at the door.

"You can come in now, Harry." The half-giant startled as the door opened, and in stepped the boy that he was asked to retrieve. Hagrid stood up, sending the armchair squealing back, scratching the floorboards; Seb winced-he'd have to call someone in to repair the floor, just putting a rug over the scratches wouldn't satisfy his husband. The chair was a lost cause anyway.

Harry stiffened as Hagrid stooped to hug him, but didn't say anything until he was released. The grin that the giant gave him was nearly impossible to see, the only tell being the crinkling of his eyes.

"Ah, ye've grown inta a fine boy! Las' time I saw you you was just a baby, 'arry, and now look at yeh!" Hagrid laughed boomingly, and Harry just watched. He seemed friendly enough, although certainly clueless. It was useful to know, and if he was as harmless as he seemed, well, he could be entertaining to keep near. Just not involved in anything where decision making was concerned.

If Hagrid notices the cool, appraising attitude of the boy, he says nothing about it. But that might be because of the sudden noise he makes before hurrying back to his coat. "I knew I fergot somethin'…ah! Here it is," triumphantly, Hagrid withdrew another parchment and handed it over to Harry. Harry himself looked slightly surprised, and Jim looked infuriated- Sebastian just seemed amused.

Harry unfolded the parchment; Sebastian watched his son's eyebrows disappear into his hairline with amusement.

"It's my school list," he informed his parents, before looking at Hagrid in confusion. "Where am I supposed to get a cauldron? Or any of the books on the reading list?" At this Sebastian made his way over to Harry and held out his hand. Harry handed it over without complaint. The paper was heavy, the texture not what he was used to.

The items listed, in any other circumstances, could have been the part of a very bad joke. And had Sebastian not seen Harry once turn a set of china into a flock of geese, by accident, he would have thought it was a joke. As it was…he was beginning to wonder, still.

"Back to my son's question, where exactly do we obtain these things?" Sebastian asked, looking up at Hagrid.

"Diagon Alley, right 'ere in London!"

"Really?" Jim asked, with such false brightness even Hagrid seemed suspicious. "What street?"

"Charing Cross Road." Hagrid admitted, but relaxed at the pleased smile that Jim gave him.

"Wonderful! We can walk there!"

It was a sullen Hagrid that led the little family down the street to the Leaky Cauldron 5 minutes later, looking very uncomfortable with the situation, maybe more at the family that followed-despite being larger than him, Hagrid was still wary about Sebastion, and at the lack of fear or hesitation to harm in his eyes, when he'd thought that Hagrid was threatening his family. Jim also made him uncomfortable-Hagrid had a natural distrust toward people who hid their intentions; and he had a gut feeling that that was exactly what Jim was doing.

To be fair, and much to his surprise, little Harry was happy, even he could see that- he was with people who cared about him and his wellbeing-not treated like scum by jealous adults, like he'd been told by Dumbledore. His leader must be mistaken.

Nonetheless, he'd keep on watching.

It was a strange little group that made it's way to the Leaky Cauldron, through London, and many stared at them. Jim was faintly uncomfortable-not at the attention itself, god knows he was used to it, so much as the fact that he was not in control of it or the situation; at least, not as much as he would have liked to be. But, as he could do nothing about it, Jim simply took Seb's offered hand and tapped a rhythm on the back of it; Sebastian smiled as he recognized it; _Thieving Magpie_, his husband's favorite.

Harry himself thought that it was fortunate that they lived only a few blocks away from the Leaky Cauldron-though he did notice that his Father almost walked past it; Jim pulled on his arm and pointed out the dilapidated building with the faded paint, and the crooked sign. It takes a moment, Sebastian squints, trying to avoid the urg to look from the hamburger restaurant on one side to the bookstore on the other- but once he sees it, he sees it, and can't help but wonder just how the bloody hell he missed such a noticeable place?

"'s got a charm on it, won't let muggles see-least, makes em ferget it almost immediately. They got to be shown the place." Hagrid announced, leading them inside. This got Jim's attention.

If muggles couldn't see it, why could he?

Hagrid was polite enough to hold open the door,and it was in this way that Jim got his first look at the bar (Hagrid had claimed it served as an inn as well, but a bar was clearly what it was, first and foremost). He wondered if this was part of the reason parents weren't traditionally brought along on these trips, because no parent in their right mind would be comfortable if their child had to walk through this at 10 and 11 years old; the bar was probably as close to a diver bar as one could get, without actually _being_ one. It wasn't even a clean bar; age old grime and dust coated the scratched wooden floor and stained the windows, leaving the establishment perpetually dimmed (though the cloud of smoke that hung in the air helped; apparently the wizarding community handn't gotten word of the smoking ban, because nearly everyone had a lit pipe-the noxious smoke making Harry cough and Jim wrinkling his nose). Jim regretted wearing one of his Westwoods out-he doubted he'd ever get the smell out of it now, and it happened to be one of his favorites, and now it smelled like smoke (though from the smell, he got the impression that more than one person had weed in their pipe, not that it helped).

"Ah! Hagrid! Usual, then?" The toothless bartender called above the din.

"N'thanks Tom, 'm on official Hogwarts business. I'm escortin' little Harry-" The look that Jim gave Hagrid made him flinch and hurry to correct himself, "Moriarty and is…parents to the Alley. We're gettin' his Hogwarts things." Tom grinned and Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief when Jim nodded in approval at the correction of the boy's surname.

"Be seein' you then! Yer in fer a treat this year, Mr. Moriarty." He grinned a gummy grin and bustled off to take the order of a wizard in a turban who'd just sat down.

Hagrid gestured for them to follow and said, carelessly over his shoulder, "Alley's out the back!"

Catching his husband's eye, Jim saw Seb wave him along and continued following the half-giant; Seb smiled in a way that was meant to be comforting and friendly and approached the bar to take a seat. He had information to gather. So he sat at that bar and ignored the slight stickiness of the stool and the bar itself and waited for Tom to approach. He mused about the loss of teeth; and wonders if wizards have no dental care, because the man can't be older than 50.

"So what'll it be?"

"Actually, I just have a few questions if you don't mind."

Much as Jim was loathe to admit it, he did like Diagon Ally (though it seriously needed a new name; Diagonally? Really?), and he found it very interesting; from the look of it-he craned his head back and forth like some sort of owl. Jim liked things that were old-and the ally looked like it had popped right out of a history book (though, admittedly, one from a fantasy novel). He liked places that were antique, noisy, chaotic-the ally was all of this, a jumbled mess that reminded him of a marketplace in an Italian village that the family had found during his and Seb's honeymoon. It wasn't in appearance, so much as the friendly, timeless air-you could have gone back a century, and Jim was sure that very little would have been changed. They passed stores with strange names, with characters just as strange.

Harry clung to his father's hand, his emerald eyes as large as saucers, trying to see everything. Jim wished that they could stop and look through everything, but Hagrid didn't offer a tour, just kept walking, so, Jim smiled at his son and whispered, "we'll come back as a family and look at everything that there is to see. I promise." Harry grinned like the sun.

"First thing's first, that means Gringotts. That's the wizarding bank, run by goblins." Hagrid introduced cheerfully, leading them farther down the street until they rounded the corner. At the very end of the ally is a large white building in marble, so extravagant looking it could give parliament a run for it's money (pardon the pun)-it stood over the rest of the shops like a hulking bully over it's cowering victims. Shaking off the image of Carl Powers, Jim focused on the conversation between Hagrid and his son.

"Hagrid, why are we going to Gringotts? I don't have any money there." This was worded carefully; Harry knew that his father had no shortage of funds, but he knew for a fact that Jim didn't have any real dealings in the wizarding world.

"Did yeh think yer parents left yeh with nothing?" It took Harry a moment to realize that Hagrid was speaking of his biological parents. When he realized the implication that he had a freaking _inheritance_, his expression tightened.

"Yes, but Hagrid, Father and Dad don't have any sort of proof of my identity, and the Dursley's didn't have it either," _and they told me that they got nothing, that I had to pay for my keep, and all this time, there was __**money**__ that they might have been lying about?_ He'd long ago accepted that what the Dursley's had done to him was unacceptable, was abusive, but still, that didn't mean that he didn't attempt to explain it away. "How am I going to get to it?"

"I've got yer key, of course!" Hagrid responded cheerfully.

"How the hell did you get his key?" Jim demanded, and Harry's face went stony.

"I…Dumbledore gave it teh me." Hagrid said quietly. Jim raised an eyebrow; by this point they were climbing the long steps up the bank, and Jim felt it safe to ditch him.

"And why, pray tell does Dumbledore have his bloody key? What legal right does he have?" At the floundering look of Hagrid, Jim merely held out his hand, "hand it over." This was the voice that made scores of underworld criminals hasten to obey him-Hagrid fumbled and quickly held it out, flinching back when Jim took it. With that, they father and son began walking past him. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Hagrid, but I believe that we can take things from here." Harry waved good bye to their 'guide' and followed his dad.

* * *

**I have nothing against Hagrid, but the man's as dumb as a box of rocks.**

**IMPORTANT:**

**I'm running a poll as to what house Harry should be in, and I want you to vote in the comments! Please, if you are able, give me a good explanation as to why Harry should be where he goes-I don't want to just stick Harry in Slytherin because he's clever, I want real reasons to use for the Hogwarts sorting hat.**

**I Need You**

**To Vote**


	5. Chapter 5

**Jeez, I'm so glad that so many people took the time to read my author's note at the bottom of the last chapter! I'm really happy that everyone likes the story so far, and I'm glad that so many people took the time to give their opinions! I'm impressed and touched, really.**

**Sad news though; I will be returning to school, unfortunately, and my updates will likely be even more erratic. I'll try and do my best, but I just thought that everyone should be aware. If this chapter is a bit of a mess, I'm sorry, I'm posting this late, I'm tired and I just want to get it posted-I'll clean it up later if it doesn't make any sense.**

**For those of you who don't know; I'm decided what House to put Harry in. If you have an opinion, put it into your review, with an explanation of why, please. So far, Ravenclaw is winning, with Hufflepuff as my second choice, but I can be persuaded.**

* * *

They passed a plaque that had Harry craning his head to get a second look at it, but his father was walking too fast for him to get a good look, only catching the first line (enter stranger but take heed; a warning?) before he was ushered inside. The interior of Gringotts was just as impressive as it's exterior, polished marble and stone. Tellers were behind the long counter that circled the room like a horseshoe; all of them goblins, and all of them rather grumpy looking-some busied themselves with customers, others were going about their business, counting up precious gems and metals valuable enough that it made Jim's head spin (not that he'd ever admit it.

Never one to hesitate, Jim led them to a goblin that wasn't waiting on anyone; Harry could only stare (as politely as he possibly could) at the strange person up close; he was only up to Harry's chest, with thick, creased leathery skin. He had narrowed eyes that looked clever and ruthless, and long, elegant fingers that stopped writing in the huge tome open before him. Setting the quill down, he folded his hands neatly and looked at them with a grudgingly polite expression, "how may I help you today?" Harry noticed the very sharp fangs with interest, but didn't comment on them-it wasn't polite.

Jim smoothed his expression into the one that he used during his business deals, Harry settled back to watch the exchange. "I'm afraid that my son and I need to speak to the manager of the Potter accounts, and I would like to see the holder of the Black accounts as well, as soon as possible." The goblin raised an eyebrow, and seemed to sneer.

"Do you have your keys?" Jim held out Harry's.

"I have my son's- I was never issued one. While we are on that subject, however, I would also like to know how a third party, who should have no access to my son's account, obtained the key in question, and why."

The goblin seemed amused at this. "And who are you?"

"I am James Moriarty, descendent of the Black family. My mother was disowned for reasons I'd rather not get into here, but I'd like to know if there's any way that I was disowned as well, or whatever the tradition is." Jim waved his hand dismissively at the interest gleaming in the goblin's eyes, before putting a hand on Harry's shoulder, "and my son, Harry Moriarty; previously known as Harry Potter." The goblin smiled nastily.

"You'll be wanting to speak with Ironclaw and Brobdingnag. Griphook!" Another goblin scuttled forward and opened up the way through the counter; this one was smaller than the first- reaching the middle of Harry's ribs; he had a long, hooked nose, and thick dark hair-however, Griphook, like the previous goblin, had pure, cunning black eyes.

"Let's go," he grunted, leading them through set of ornate double doors, into a hallway decorated with the finest of things; Harry saw his father admiring the cherry paneling on the walls, and wondered which safe house he'd choose to emulate the cheery effect; or would it be the row house?

The longer that they walked, the more Harry noticed the halls take on a more…cavernous quality; it wasn't anything noticeable, just a feeling. Windows began to disappear, nd a sense of vertigo seemed to overwhelm him, before he realized that the floor must be sloping down subtly. Quite smart, building underground. Harry wondered if the goblins must have some sort of sixth sense when it came to navigating the hallways-after a few minutes and endless corners, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to make his way back out without Griphook. Even Jim felt the same, compensating by keeping close to his son.

"Brobdingnag is the executer of the Potter estastes; we'll be taking Mr. Potter there first. Unless you believe that he needs assistance?" Harry sent his father a pleading expression. Jim thought about it (though the thought only lasted about half a second); Harry had been begging, as politely as possible, for a chance to help with his network. Jim could appreciate his son's enthusiasm, however, the fact was that Harry had no experience with money, or getting information-at least through official channels (which, despite the Ice Man's greatest attempts, he still had to do on many, frequent occasions). It was a good opportunity to garner experience and test his skill set; plus, there was the fact that Jim could get any information Harry failed to or forgot about quite easily.

"No, my son can find what he needs on his own. Right?" Harry nodded, grinning. Jim touched his shoulder and Harry settled a bit, although he couldn't help the smile.

"This is it." Griphook knocked on a door, unlabeled, and opened it. He glanced at Harry and smiled nastily, before continuing down the hall. Jim followed him, not risking another glance behind him.

He was afraid the worry might show on his face.

Harry swallowed but entered Brobdingnag's office; it was in richer colors than the hallway, and darker paneled wood. The goblin did not stand as he entered, only cast a critical eye over him; this one was the tallest Harry had seen, easily reaching his shoulders-he was built powerfully, and though he looked to be getting on in age, Harry was willing to bet that he could still kill a man easier than the golem had been able.

"With all due respect, Mr. Potter, for us to continue, we need to go over a few formalities." Brobdingnag gestured to the seat before his desk, and Harry sat down. He sat with his legs crossed, resting his head on one hand. He looked almost identical to James Moriarty in that moment-powerful, interested, cool but totally in control of himself and the situation. Brobdingnag began by explaining that in 10 years, the goblins had not received a response from him or the Potter representative, and, all in all, the elderly goblin was not pleased-no contact, no effort, no nothing, equaled a very unhappy solicitor. It took some time before Harry managed to get a word in edgewise, and he did so by holding up his right hand, as if he was in school-but he maintained his composure.

"Sir, let me explain. For the first 6 years after my parent's passing, I was raised by my muggle relatives; they treated me as their slaves and cruelly mistreated me. My current father, one of them, found out about the abuse and took me from their home. I was adopted by this man's boss, and they were married several years later. I have had no notices sent to me regarding my accounts, my heritage, or anything of the like. Now, I was brought here by the Hogwarts gamekeeper, who has possession of my vault key-apparently Headmaster Dumbledore has had possession of it all this time. Now, I would like you to please drop the attitude, and talk to me like a person who has gotten the short end of the stick when it comes to being reintroduced to my heritage, find out exactly how Dumbledore got his hands on _what is mine_ and fix the problem. Thank you." Harry managed to keep his voice very level, his face composed, and his hands folded; only a slight narrowing of his eyes revealed his righteous anger. Nonetheless, Brobdingnag did feel a grudging bit of understanding.

The goblin had been the solicitor of the Potter accounts since the boy's grandfather had come of age; he took pride in his work, in his duty. The Potters were a respectable family, not just because of their wealth but their honesty, and, when it came down to it, vicious cunning; they were lions first, but even the king of beasts had to hide in order to catch it's prey. Harry Potter, Brobdingnag believed, was turning out to be more like his grandfather-a man who had a slytherin mother, and had been a good half inch from being a slytherin himself.

"Very well." He produced a large sheet of clean parchment, "this is a sort of blood ritual-it's used in proving illegitimate children in bloodlines, mostly, but because you want us to investigate this inconsistent key distribution, we're going to make sure that _you_ actually are Harry Potter. You need to cut yourself with this," a small knife about the size of a penknife was set down on the parchment; it was pure silver, and inscribed with strange looking letters that Harry immediately knew as runes, "bleed on the parchment a bit and if you are who you say you are, we can get started." Without hesitating, Harry seixed the little knife and sliced a bit of his index finger.

The blood hit the parchment and stayed there; there was a brief, very brief, moment of worry, before the blood was absorbed and writing the same color of the blood appeared; it seemed to swirl around for a minute, but letters oozed from the page, reading:

**_Account #: 137000462901_**

**_Birth Name: Harry James Potter_**

**_Current Name: Harry James Moriarty_**

**_Legal Guardians: Siruis Orion Black (Indisposed)_**

**_Alice Marie Longbottom (Long-term Patient-St. Mungo's)_**

**_James Aedan Moriarty_**

**_Sebastian William Moran_**

**_Title: Lord Potter_**

**_Vaults: 8_**

**_#37401- Balance (14,700,841 galleons, 56,789 sickles, 190,388 knuts)_**

**_#37483- Balance (-2,782 galleons, -457,983 sickles, -4,789 knuts; debts annulled- property rights to heir)_**

**_#37483- Balance (1,691 galleons, 90 sickles, 380 knuts)_**

**_#37689- Balance (28,494,590 galleons, 50,000,343 sickles, 398,498 knuts)_**

**_#38987- Balance (0)_**

More writing appeared, but the rest of his vaults read 0 as well, and Harry looked at the goblin in question.

"Why do the rest of my accounts read zero and what are the negatives? How are the debts annulled?"

Brobdingnag coughed and opened a large file, rifling through the papers before coming to what he'd been looking for, explaining carefully, "the vaults without any finances contain mostly heirlooms, documents, jewelry and property rights; things that belong to you but that have no immediate monetary value without being sold. As to your second question, you grandfather was very talented with money; in his lifetime, thanks to his wise investments and business ventures, as well as hard work, your family's saving more than quadrupled. Your father, however, didn't have his father's skill. Once he turned 17, your grandfather gave your father a separate bank account and made him sign an agreement, a binding one, that he would not use the family vault for anything but care of his family or properties, at least not without speaking to me. His vault was distributed a weekly allowance. He tried to follow in his father's footsteps, however he was unsuccessful. Because his debts were never paid off, and because they were not to be drawn from the Potter account, you inherit an empty vault-it has nothing in it, and the debt was annulled with his death." Harry nodded in quiet understanding.

"What kinds of investments? How did he select them?" Harry wondered; he wasn't much for stocks and bonds, and neither was Jim-he just asked for curiosity's sake.

"He selected them based on the recommendations of Albus Dumbledore. It's quite possible this trust is how the headmaster received your key in the first place." Harry sighed; it was disrespectful to speak ill of the dead, and he had no reason to blame his father-he had enough money, even with his foolishness. He breathed deeply and filed the thought away. "Most of the business and people that he invested in never made it off the ground or didn't result in significant monetary gain."

"Why did he follow Dumbledore's orders? Do you know anything about that?" Bobdingnag chuckled sardonically.

"Your parents belonged to a group that opposed Voldemort's beliefs. Dumbledore, as well as holding several important titles, as well as being their Headmaster, was the "Leader of the Light", and the group answered to him. He…often suggested where members should invest." Harry didn't know whether to laugh at the foolishness of parents he'd never know, or to pity them-what must it be like, to trust someone so implicitly that they did what asked without second thought; even with his fathers, Harry asked why-they taught him to do so, to question and analyze, take everything with a pinch of salt.

"I would like a change in keys-neutralize the ones out, produce two new ones. And I would like a copy of all bank statements for my vaults in the last 10 years." Borbdingnag nodded and handed over the file, before writing something down on what looked to be…a flat stone the size of a small paperback.

"These tablets are distributed among the senior goblins who hold important accounts, such as myself, in case of an emergency which I would say qualifies for this. What is written on here is transferred to the intended recipients, much like muggle's email." Harry flipped through the numbers with practiced patience, his eyes narrowing at some of the figures, at the with drawls that had certainly not come from him.

"Who's been taking money?" Harry demanded, Brobdingnag smiled dryly and chuckled.

"Dumbledore; it's been very little, but consistent, once every week. The money was traded to the equivalent muggle equivalent and placed into a bank account belonging to one Petunia Evans. Money has been taken out of the account from there as well, but…"

"My Aunt Petunia died shortly after I was adopted. Who's taking the money?"

"From there I am not positive, Mr. Potter. However, if you so wish, I can personally ave the money taken back from Dumbledore, the funds that we can prove anyhow, with interest if you so wish it." Harry thought it out, before looking at the solicitor.

"What do you think that I should do?" Brobdingnag was taken aback, and studied the boy before him more closely; he exuded an air of quiet confidence, control and curiosity. He closely resembled James Potter, but only on the surface- the contemplative expression never would have crossed James Potter's face; indeed even the boy's unruly hair seemed to be wild just because he _let_ it be that way.

It was rare that a wizard sought a goblin's advice-professionally or otherwise; any other time it would have been taken with surprise, but because it was Harry Potter, this was special cause for attention. Who would this boy turn out to be? Leaning back, making the chair creek, the goblin folded his long, clawed fingers over his stomach. "It depends on what exactly you'd like; most likely, suing for what is owed to you will result in attention from the public., Dumbledore is a very big name after all, and there's no guarantee that you'd get it back. Not to mention that people will want to know where you've been, which I assume you don't want. If we just cut his access from the vaults, he will not be able to draw any more, and no other notice will be given." Brobgingnag coughed a bit, "there's also the matter of your parents wills."

"They had a will?"

"It was a time of war, Mr. Potter, of couse they did. Their will, however was sealed before it could be read or put into effect, by the Wizengamont. You can petition to have it opened, however, and would likely succeed."

Harry sighed and thought of what his Dad would do in this situation. Then realized that the question was redundant; he wasn't James Moriarty, and Jim would want him ot think for himself, and he wanted to prove to his father that he had learned. "I would like all documents containing information about my account given to me, or in the least made copies of. Issue new keys, make sure that Dumbledore isn't able to access anything. As to my parent's will…I'll have to think about it. I want to know what's in it, but I need to weigh the pros and cons." Brobdingnag nodded, and, with a vulpine smile, did as he was asked.

* * *

In Ironclaw's office, James Moriarty was pleasantly surprised that his hunch had paid off…in a way. The stout little goblin seemed amused by the situation, and he figured, _everything else in the Wizarding World is backwards, why not it's inheritance laws?_

"Despite your mother being disowned, your grandfather never put that into place for her offspring, that being you. On the condition that you are, indeed, magical, you have every right to the Black family vaults."

Jim clicked his tongue.

"I've never been taught magic." Jim admitted, finally. "Or tested. Mother didn't want to know that I could have inherited what she didn't. Can I be tested for it now?" Ironclaw nodded, and produced a needle.

"It's a fairly simple procedure. Prick your finger and if you are magical, the needle will glow. If not, it will stay plain." Jim took the needle from him and turned it over in his fingers, thinking long and hard.

It was an unbelievably plain needle; in any other context, he might have thought it belonged to a sewing kit. Nothing special about it, whatsoever. With that said, it was Jim's final chance; he could still cange his mind, could take Harry and Sebastian and run. They could leave England, never come back; modern day gypsies, exploring the world. They could financially afford to walk away, to abandon the network-there was enough money in off shore accounts all over the world so that Harry would never have to work, and neither would his grandchildren.

He couldn't do it.

The temptation to poke at these sleeping lions was too tempting, and Jim stabbed at his index finger, on his left hand, viciously.

The needle began to glow.

Moriarty smiled grimly.

Ironclaw shuffled several papers, "now, getting on with things…"

* * *

Hagrid sat glumly in Diagon Alley, trying to figure out just what had happened for the goblins to deny him entry into Harry's vault.

After Mr. Moriarty and Harry had entered the bank, Hagrid had followed, and witnessed them being escorted back to the private offices. Hagrid had tried to withdraw money so that they could get right to shopping (the Headmaster had, wisely, thought to give him a spare, incase it got sat on or lost in one of his many coat pockets), but the goblins had said that the vault was "temporarily closed until we can figure this mess out", and they told him to come back later. So, Hagrid had puttered around the Alley, chatting up acquaintences and wasting time- he returned to the bank an hour and a half later, but the goblin had told him "that key is no longer in circulation; a new one has been issued."

So, there he sat, waiting like a stray dog for Harry to come back out. It had been an hour since his second rejection, and while Hagrid was not a man especially prone to constant activity, despite his job, after so long of sitting and waiting without doing anything, Hagrid was beginning to grow restless.

It was just when he'd begun to contemplate whether or not to owl the Headmaster that the two entered Hagrid's line of sight. Harry carried an armful of folders, but was carefully handing them, one at a time, to Mr. Moriarty, who was putting them in what looked like a leather briefcase.

_Must've bought it off the goblins,_ Hagrid thought miserably; for a fee, the goblins sold things of that nature for carrying important papers and documents. The cases all had feather-light charms and undetectable expansion charms, spelled into them separately by the dealer who, in turn, had sold them to the goblins; a way to ensure that they performed to the best of their ability, as opposed to the massive spells that most bags of that nature had.

Hagrid stood, the bench he had been sitting on moaned in relief, matching his sigh of relief rather nicely. He approached the two, Harry's school list in hand.

"Where've yeh been?" Hagrid asked, but his impatience cooled at the icy look Jim gave him.

"The bank." Harry answered for his father, handing the last of the folders over. Jim put them in the case as well and snapped it closed. Jim laughed at the prompt, and true, answer. Hagrid just sighed, before standing at attention when Jim looked right at him.

"I'd like Harry's list, please." Hesitantly, Hagrid handed it over without complaint; at this point, Hagrid just wanted to go back to the Leaky Cauldron and drink a bottle of Firewhiskey, the day had been so long, and worrisome. Jim folded it up with marked grace and tucked it into the briefcase. "Thank you for your introduction to the Alley, Mr. Hagrid, however it has been a long day, and I believe that we'll do our shopping tomorrow." Harry chose this moment to, wisely, yawn. Jim petted his hand absently. "As you can see, my son is tired."

"Alrigh', I guess. I'll come an'-"

"We can bring ourselves, Mr. Hagrid, no need to lose another day of work." Jim smiled brightly, as if pleased by the generosity. He turned to Harry and prompted, gently, "what do you say?"

Harry, picking up on the hint, smiled languidly at Hagrid and held out a hand, "thank you for bringing us, Mr. Hagrid." Without thinking about it, Hagrid had shaken Harry's hand; dwarfing it in his own giant paw.

Jim wasted no time in leading Harry away, and Hagrid watched them go. Among the crowd, it seemed like they stood out, have no troubkle navigating the crowd, absently fighting a current that seemed to part as they approached. Despite not being one for introspection, Hagrid got the vague impression that any crowd would part for the family subconsciously and without realizing why, just because of their presence. He shook his head, and the thought away; what a stupid idea.

* * *

Jim and Harry collected Sebastian from the bar on their way out, where the blond had been gathering information from the half-intoxicated crowd.

They walked home under the darkening sky, watched by artificial lights that gleamed like small moons. Harry walked between his father's, feeling strangely tired. If he had been just a year or two younger, he would have asked Sebastian to carry him-that being said, he was so tired now that he clung to both men's hands and tried to keep his eyes open.

They returned home and found the door repaired, with new locks- the keys were on the other side o the door in a plastic bag, taped there, and reachable by putting one's hand through the mail slot.

Little was said between the family that particular night- they ate leftover Thai, and Harry went up to bed. 10 minutes later, on the way to their room, Jim found Seb in Harry's doorway, watching the boy sleep; he was snoring already, so tired that he had fallen asleep almost immediately. Jim approached, cautious of the air of despondency that his husband seemed to exude.

Sebastian, who'd heard Jim walk up, said, quietly, "I feel like I'm losing you both." Jim relaxed and walked up behind his husband, stepping up and wind his arms around Seb's waist. "You're both sinking into a fantasy novel, and I can't join you."

But it was so much more- Sebastian could accept being less intelligent than Jim. He could accept that his husband was on a completely different mental plane than himself, and that Harry was slowly ascending to that same plane as well. He'd been okay with it, and always would be so, because he loved Jim, and in his own way, Jim loved him back. In that footing, they were equal; their relationship was give and take; Jim could make the plans, Seb would shoot the gun-Seb was willing to do everything and anything for Jim. Only Seb could reach Jim when he retreated into the dark places that he would sometimes retreat; for all that Jim loved them, Jim was dangerous-he trusted Seb to keep Harry safe when he lost control, to pull him out of his fits-Sebastian could bring out, and could see, the grain of humanity that was within Moriarty, and only Sebastian and Harry could do that; for this, Jim was grateful. Now they were facing enemies that they'd never seen, an empire they'd never dealt with, enemies that a gun could do little against.

If Sebastian could protect Jim and Harry, he was useless.

Sensing the doubt, Jim tucked his face into Sebastian's back, between his shoulder blades. "You're with us Tiger." Jim promised, basking in the warmth he offered, and if he sounded a bit vulnerable, well, Seb didn't point it out. "Unless you don't want to be anymore."

Immediately, Sebastian voiced his protestations, "I'm yours, boss, so long as you want me."

Their fears soothed for the moment, the two retreated to their room, shutting Harry's bedroom door tightly, but silently; each of them hoped, privately and irrationally, that just by shutting the door, nothing bad would enter and harm him.

* * *

They were up early the next day, all of them (save Jim, who had stayed up nearly the whole night doing paperwork and getting acquainted with his new accounts and properties, making calls, and drawing up new plans and battle strategies); Harry, specifically, snapped awake with the excitement only a young boy faced with the prospect of something so remarkably new and interesting can have. He dressed for comfort, rather than style; because they would be doing a lot of walking and shopping today, he saw no need to dress to the nines-today was for pleasure, not business. Seb was jolted awake by the sound of the kitchen smoke alarm and groaned; that meant Jim had tried to be domestic again, and burned whatever he'd tried to cook-making an even bigger mess for Sebastian than he would have faced if Jim had just let him cook in the first place. Hurrying downstairs, Sebastian's theory was confirmed; apparently the consulting criminal had attempted to make pancakes (or what were supposed to be pancakes; one look at the batter told Seb that Jim had tried to 'improve' the recipe he'd gotten off Google).

The blackened pan was scraped clean as Jim sulked, the 'batter' thrown out; instead, Sebastian made oatmeal, eggs, bacon and toast-at which point Harry came bounding down the stairs, making Jim perk up almost immediately.

"How do you feel about getting your wand last?" Jim questioned, standing up; since he could cook worth shit, he might as well set the table.

"I don't mind. Can we get robes first?" Harry asked. Sebastian chuckled as he began dishing out the food.

"You want to just get it over with, kiddo?" Seb teased, grinning at the sour look that Jim gave him. Despite Jim's best efforts, he hadn't been able to impose upon Harry a love of shopping for clothes.

"Yes, I do." Harry admitted, shrugging. Seb laughed at the utter lack of apology; he was becoming more like Jim every day. Jim rolled his eyes affectionately, handing over a plate and a bowl heaped with food, both of which Harry accepted and immediately dug into.

Jim sat down with his own plate a moment later, and began idly picking at a scorch mark in the table, with his other hand he started spooning sugar into his oatmeal. "We should buy double the ingredients that they listed," Jim said absently, making Harry look up at him.

"How come?"

"Accidents happen of course. Besides, knowing you, I'm sure that you'll be performing a few experiments on your own." Harry nodded thoughtfully, swallowing a mouthful of egg. "And your booklist, well, we'll be purchasing more than that, I'm afraid." Jim teased, knowing that his son wouldn't mind at all. Seb took his seat and began with a shred of bacon, smiling slyly. "What's your opinion of pets, Tiger?"

Seb sipped his coffee suspiciously; the last time that Jim wanted a 'pet', he'd stolen a panther from the zoo.

"What sort of pet?"

"An owl." Jim answered promptly, though it was the answer that made Sebastian blink. "They use owls for mail, remember?"

Seb grunted, but looked a bit sheepish, "I just thought it was the school."

Jim made a thoughtful noise; one finger traced the rim of his milk glass, "suppose I can't fault you for that one; they are a very strange society. It hardly makes any sense to me." Jim admitted, shrugging. Sebastian gave him a disbelieving look. Jim turned indignant. "What?"

"You? You can't make sense of something?" Harry answered.

Jim sniffed. "I'll choose to take that as a compliment."

"It was." Harry and Sebastian echoed simultaneously. Harry giggled and Seb grinned- even Jim chuckled.

* * *

They left after breakfast was eaten and the dishes washed. Because they had no other way to do so, they entered Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron again, the same as yesterday. Although, this time the patrons of the bar greeted Sebastian with a, more or less, unanimous shout/slur of his first name. Jim smiled softly, squeezing his hand; though the opinions of drunks usually didn't matter to him, a lot of what Sebastian had gathered for him had been useful. Tom, the bartender, chatted easily with them as he led them to the wall, and wished them a good day once it opened.

Without Hagrid pushing them along, they stopped to browse and peruse; there was so much to see! Jim wondered if it was because his brain was in shock yesterday, because today everything seemed so much more intense. Part of it could probably be explained by Sebastian; because he had been absent yesterday, everything is new, seen with fresh eyes. Stone faced Sebby is just as excited as their eleven year old son. They stop and listen to salesmen and women, buy what takes their fancy. There are people selling glass spheres with exact replicas of the night sky, sweets that they've never heard of. Things were so fascinating, even getting his uniform wasn't so bad as Harry had feared; Madam Malkin's was run by a witch of the same name, who was stout and small, and slung magic around without second thought; Harry had no problem standing still as a magical measuring tape took down his measurements without her prompting, with the witch herself just writing the numbers down.

The fitting itself was actually quite fun; Madame Malkin was a gossip-she nattered on about the price of dragon blood, and how the Ministry was doing such a muck-up job, wasn't it such a disgrace? Oh, but you're muggles-well, I certainly hope that you don't need to have any dealings with the Ministry! Jim was ready to blow Malkin's brains out by the time that she finally, smiled and said, "that's you done, dear!" The Hogwarts uniform was a long black robe, black slacks, a gray sweater vest, and a white collared shirt-according to Madame Malkin, the uniform was spelled to show the House crest once Harry was sorted, and his tie, also gray, would reflect the house colors as well.

Jim thought it was quite well done, speaking from someone who'd had a private tailor for over a decade and knew the difference between shoddy work and work well done. Harry looked so proud standing there, Seb took a picture with the spare camera that he usually brought with him.

Eyelops Owl Emporium, down the street, was a quiet experience; because the owls were mostly light sensitive, the low lighting in the store made it difficult to properly distinguish one owl from another. The air was never silent, the shifting of feathers, of clicking talons on perches, made it a someone eerie trip. Harry was practically vibrating with energy as he explored the place, going from one owl to the next as if jerked on a string. Jim and Sebastian browsed as well-picking up owl treats and a large, comfortable perch, leaving Harry to decide on the cage himself. They watched as Harry crooned and petted a particularly spectacular owl-a large, female snow owl with bright amber eyes who preened under his attentions. When Harry looked at his parents, Jim tried to, gently, and half-heartedly dissuade his son.

"Now, you realize that if you get her, you'll never be able to get your mail without attracting attention?" Jim reminded, Harry gave him a stony look, and the owl herself seemed to bristle at the suggestion that any other owl was acceptable for the boy. "Alright, then, if that's what you want, dear. Go pick out a cage, then?" Harry selected a roomy, ironwork cage that was aesthetically pleasing and easy to carry.

Jim was like a child in a candy store as they went to get potion's supplies-he got the clerk to help point out what to look for in acceptable ingredients, asking questions and making sure that Harry paid attention as well. Sebastian made sure to get the pictures-it was rare that Jim looked so carefree without his mask. Indded, he could have passed for a freshly graduated Hogwarts student when he smiled like that. All the ingredients went into paper packets and into the pewter cauldron-the brass scales gleamed cheerfully in the afternoon as they stepped out again. They went in to buy a trunk and had one specially ordered; special compartments that would continually expand for everything Harry put in, accessible to only him, a feather light charm to ensure that he would have no trouble carrying it. They all loved it; pure leather that gleamed proudly, Harry's initials proudly on the lid in gold.

Flourish and Blotts was a dream come true for the whole family-their purchases had to be shrunk for them at the checkout (and oh, had Jim gotten furious at the haughty look the woman had given them, along with the sniff. _Muggles or Mudbloods,_ she'd mumbled to her husband, who nodded regretfully). Jim had bought everything on the list, spell books for every year (for himself, of course), long time classics, history books, etiquette-as well as current best sellers-what better way to integrate into a culture than to know its culture first?

They took a break after that, stopping in at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and having large ice creams; Jim had chocolate, banana and caramel, Sebastian had a small strawberry and almond, and Harry had a mint cone with raspberry sauce. It's a satisfying thing, to eat an unhealthy snack with the ones that you love, and bask in the dying light of a well spent shopping day- Jim didn't want it to end, and was grateful for his sharp memory. Sebastian lingered, going over the details-unfolding the sensations and things that his senses absorbed and examining them over again. Harry merely closed his eyes and committed to memory what he could, sure that he'd remember more if he remained relaxed.

Finally, the final stop was for their wands. The moment that they entered, Sebastian's hackles raised; the air was charged with electricity. He felt like someone was continually breathing down his neck. Surreptitiously, he slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, touching the revolver that he'd brought with them. He glanced at Jim and saw complete relaxation in the small form, much to his shock, and Harry was the same. He wondered if it was magic; if there was so much in the building that even he, as a muggle could practically taste it on his tongue.

"Welcome." A voice called; a spindly little man in tweed, covered in dust emerged from seemingly nowhere, with pale, bulging eyes and hair that looked like he'd stuck a finger in a light socket. "Harry Potter, I wondered when I would see you in here! Why, only yesterday, your parents were buying their own wands, it seems. 11" mahogany, pliable, good for Transfiguration, that was your father's. And sweet Lily, willow, 10 and a quarter inches, willow-swishy. Perfect for charms work." Mr. Ollivander chuckled and sized Harry up in a way that made Harry shift and Jim uneasy. His eyes landed on Jim-narrowing in thought. "And you?"

"I'd like a wand as well, please…my old one was…damaged severely." Mr. Ollivander looked unconvinced, but said nothing else.

He brought them wands, growing more and more excited as each failed-wands flew off the walls, sparks flew, the ends of wands smoked and more than one exploded in someone's grip, only to be snatched away. Seb sat down and watched as the spectacle went on, wondering just what the hell had happened to his life, in a completely non serious way. Ollivander was the type to mumble to himself as it went, and if a muggle out of the loop heard what he said, they would have called the men in white coats to retrieve him, without a doubt.

"No, not hazel and dragonheart string."

"Too swishy..."

"Of course phoenix feathers won't work for you..."

"Not the mystic type I take it?"

Jim, remarkably found his wand first; the sparks that flew from it were different, more like stars, as a matter of fact, that gleamed and stayed where they were in mid air. Jim's hands tightened around the wand protectively, baring his teeth at Ollivander when he reached for it- the wandmaker chuckled and explained, "walnut, sturdy, fwooper and hippogriff feathers; a very exotic wand, sir. I make them occasionally, but most of the materials aren't native to Britain- many of our wizards don't think of them when getting a wand." Jim accepted it, but refused to let him have it back, immediately handing over the 10 galleons the wand cost.

Harry, however, was a very tricky customer, apparently. Mr. Ollivander brought out a wand at one point that must have been different, because he handed it over with special reverence, and looked at Harry with surprise when that wand blew into smithereens in Harry's grip. He looked at Harry again-this time, apparently seeing Harry differently, before wandering into the back of the store. He tore through the boxes furiously, making quite the racket.

"What if I can't find a wand?" Harry asked Jim quietly, the insecurity there broke Jim's heart, but he tutted.

"Oh, darling. You've never needed a wand to do magic before. It'll just be one more way you're special." Seb silently congratulated Jimmy on the successful comforting of their son. They'd discuss it later...maybe over a candlelit dinner...or a dead body, like that whore from F&B.

Ollivander came rushing out, then, panting, "I believe I may have found it, Mr. Potter! Come then, try it." Ollivander pressed it into his hand, and just like that, Harry knew; wind whistled through the shop, the wand warmed and cooled in his grip. He held the wood protectively to his chest when he looked at Ollivander again, silently begging for it not to be taken away. "Another rare customer! Kaya, dragon heartstring, 12 inches sturdy. A very, very unusual combination, for a very, very unusual customer." Moriarty didn't like the amused gleam in Ollivander's eye as he paid the man for the second wand, and the two jars of wax, or the two care kits.

The bell rang behind them loudly, and Harry got the feeling that it was less of an exit, and more of a starting gunshot.

* * *

**A brief explaination from the last chapter; gombeen is an Irish insult for a very annoying man.**

**Thank you pottermore for your information on wandlore, and a more in depth explanation of Jim and Harry's wands;**

**Kaya - A lovely yellow wandwood of Japanese origin, it is extremely rare in British wandmaking. However, those bonded to Kaya wands will find their abilities in logical arts, such as Potions, Astronomy, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy, boosted.**

**Walnut – A beautiful, strong, and versatile wood. Unlike black walnut, it has no slant towards Light or Dark.**

**Dragon heartstring(s)**

**Dragon heartstring is a powerful wand with a lot of magical "heft". It is not the core you want for subtlety, but for sheer power it is definitely the best. Although it is the most common core among Dark Wizards, Dark Wizards are most certainly not their most common users. Dragon heartstrings are by far the most common wand core amongst Slytherins, but their power often bonds to Gryffindors and Ravenclaws as well. However, they tend to overwhelm the archetypal Hufflepuff personality.**

**Fwooper feather(s)**

**Fwooper feather wands are said to be a mark of ill omen for the wizards they bond to, as, like the birds they come from, they are rumored to slowly drive their wielder mad. Despite their poor reputation, they do well with Charms and Care of Magical Creatures. However, they have a near-inability to castQuietus. They are commonly combined with another feather core, such as the phoenix for health or the hippogriff for stability. **

**Hippogriff feather(s)**

**Hippogriffs are noble animals with a reputation for not taking a slight. These wands require constant respect, and if the wielder does not give it, they can watch its formerly stable and versatile magic backfire on it. It is not the strongest core, but it is one of the most adaptable. These wands are most common amongst Gryffindors, but they are rare overall.**


End file.
